


Set the controls for the heart of the sun

by crimsonepitaph



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Emotional Infidelity, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mild Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4356938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonepitaph/pseuds/crimsonepitaph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's a cop. Jared's the bartender at the bar across the street from his precinct. They fall in love. Only, it's not that simple. Jared 's still running from his past, and Jensen's a man who doesn't know how to accept the present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **  
> Author's note #1:**  
>  Title from the Pink Floyd song.  
>   
> 
> **Author's note #2:** A huge thank you to the wonderful **borgmama1of5** , who, once again, has proven to be endlessly patient in sorting through my writing. She makes every story better - be it by shaping sentences than span ten lines into something coeherent, by correcting my awful punctuation (ah, quotes), or just the openness she has to discuss ideas (to listen to my ramblings) and give me advice and suggestions. She's a rockstar :)
> 
> This year, I had the privilege of working with **beelikej** , who is an amazing artist. It was such a pleasure collaborating with her - I can't thank her enough for the time she took to send me updates, to discuss the story and the art. Also, the art she has done for the story? It's absolutely fucking gorgeous. [Link ](http://beelikej.livejournal.com/477527.html) to it - go tell her how amazing it is!
> 
> Last but not least, thank you to **wendy** , for all her hard work and patience in running this amazing challenge.

                                             

 

 

Jensen switches off the ignition, tugs the sleeves of his Henley down, grabs his wallet from the passenger seat and shoves it in his pocket.  
  
Breathes.  
  
One, two. Rhythmic. Repetition. He’s switching gears. Well, trying to.  
  
It isn’t as easy as it once was.  
  
Hard days and restless nights.  
  
That’s his reality. He craves the bone-deep exhaustion of a job well done. He wants the peace, the satisfaction of a good night’s sleep afterward.  
  
But it’s not there now. There’s latent energy buzzing under his skin while at the same time he’s exhausted beyond belief, a tired, bone-deep feeling that took months to seep in. He doesn’t want to be alone – doesn’t trust himself enough. But he doesn’t want a crowd. Chris, Steve, Danneel – they mean well. But their voices – loud words, a Texas drawl, a sultry tone – they start to mingle.  
  
Nothing. It’s all they mean anymore. Patch jobs.  
  
They care.  
  
Trouble is, Jensen doesn’t know if he does.  
  
So he gets out of the car, enters the bar, takes a spot along the worn wooden counter. It’s been a long time. Nothing’s changed much.  
  
Except the bartender.  
  
It’d been a pretty blonde, dark green eyes and rack big enough to keep the bar full at all times. Katie. Katie loved cops. The uniforms. Maybe a little too much. Back when he’d made of habit of ending his night here, there were way too many shots on the house.  
  
Now it’s a guy. Tall. Long hair. Tattooed arms.  
  
That’s all Jensen makes out at a distance in the dim light. He doesn’t care much. Didn’t come to look for a good fuck.  
  
The guy spots him, and makes his way towards Jensen.  
  
Jensen doesn’t give him a chance, opens with, “You’re new.”  
  
Tall guy raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t miss a beat. “Brilliant observation, Detective.” His left hand is splayed on the counter – he taps an uneven rhythm with his thumb. ”What can I get you?”  
  
“Beer.”  
  
The bartender waits, eyes Jensen for a moment. He smiles patiently. “Gonna clue me in more than that, or do I have to guess what kind of man you are?”  
  
Jensen surprises himself when he relaxes. But why not? He’s in control. That’s what he needs right now.  
  
He returns the smile. The bartender nods, swings the towel in his right hand over his shoulder, and turns around. He comes back with an ice cold bottle that he slaps in front of Jensen and expertly opens up in two seconds flat.  
  
Black. Bitter. Special brew.  
  
Jensen laughs.  
  
  
  


~

 

  
“You stereotype people.”  
  
It’s late. There’s only a few people left around. Jensen enjoys the quiet almost as much as he enjoys getting lost in a loud crowd.  
  
The bartender –  _long fingers, small scar on his jaw –_ is wiping the counter, muscular arms peeking from underneath the black v-neck he’s wearing. The intricate design of the tattoo on his forearm follows the motion –black lines, stripes of tanned skin in between, but Jensen can’t really make out the individual elements. Though he can see two parallel lines inked on his wrist, thin, black faded to a dark grey, circling, then curving upwards in strings of fluttering ribbon that spell out two dates – numbers elongated, surprisingly soft and elegant molded against the canvas of hard muscle.  
  
The bartender looks up. The curve of his lips can’t be called a smile. “I make assumptions.”  
  
The man’s eyes – Jensen can’t really tell the color in the light – rest on Jensen, on his mouth, then track downward, to his neck, to his shoulders,  _lower,_ and Jensen can almost feel fingertips brush his skin, trailing invisible paths. Jensen clears his throat, and the bartender’s eyes snap back, meet Jensen’s, and the half-smile slides into a smirk, slow and smug. “And I’m right.”  
  
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Cocky.”  
  
He nods. “Within rights.”  
  
Jensen smiles. Gets up. He feels the guy following his movements – chooses a table, and signals the guy. “A bottle of Jack, and two shot glasses.” Jensen licks his lips. Slowly. Unashamedly.  “Please.”  
  
The bartender arches an eyebrow, but complies, grabs the bottle, the glasses, and comes out from behind the bar. Jensen takes in the view, slow, deliberate, open, with no intention of pretending he’s not doing exactly that – long legs in faded jeans, low on hips, shoulders, broad, strong – it’s so easy, so easy to create the fantasy, to strip him down, imagine him spread out, willing, writhing, begging under his hands.  
  
Jensen inhales, lets the picture linger behind his eyelids, lets the warmth, the heat spread through him – and when the guy makes a move to turn around, go back, Jensen grabs his wrist. Tight, controlling, only two fingers, one on his pulse point and one directly above. The guy makes no move to pull back.  
  
“No. Two.” Jensen lets go of his wrist, motions towards the chair across from him. “Sit.”  
  
There’s a slight quirk of pink lips. “Not a dog.” The bartender spins the chair, straddles it, and leans in. “But I’m intrigued.”  
  
There’s music in the background. Faint, guitar, Latin jazz, ideal, perfect quality to it, soft bursts of sharp notes that melt into a distant wish. Jensen has no clue. Doesn’t know who’s singing. Or why the guy is still there.  
  
Still playing, still watching him – the guy is patient. Doesn’t say anything. Just waits. Taps the same unnerving rhythm of the music with his fingers against his knees.  
  
Maybe it’s because he’s just as fucked up as Jensen is. As much an addict, as much a bitch for things that can’t be good for him.  
  
Jensen pours them both a shot. Starts easy. “Katie. Why’d she leave?”  
  
The guy reaches for the small glass, pauses, traces the wet rim with his index finger before raising and downing it.  
  
“Someone bought one of her photos. Paid close to a hundred grand for it.” He smiles, broad, open, dimpled. “Took her girlfriend to Greece. Said she’d be back when the money’s finished.”  
  
Jensen grins. That sounds like Katie. Unpredictable. Just as likely to have moved to the suburbs with an accountant, on her way to having 2.5 kids.  
  
“And you?”  
  
The bartender watches him, expression unchanged, slight tilt of his lips. “What about me?”  
  
“You seem like you know what you’re doing. Know your way around this.”  _This._ The scene.  _How to handle me._  
  
“That seems like a compliment. It’s a compliment, isn’t it?” He shoots Jensen a playful grin. “Miracles. Deep down, I knew you were capable of it.”  
  
Jensen quirks an eyebrow. “You seem to assume a lot about me.”  
  
“Don’t tell me you didn’t try to guess my life story, Detective.”  
  
“Not on the job.” Jensen smirks. The guy does know how to read people. Jensen’s in torn jeans and a ratty grey Henley, his eyes bloodshot and surrounded by circles that might as well be bruises – Jensen knows he looks like he belongs on the other side of the law. But the guy sees, guesses. It still makes Jensen itch for the gun and badge he left in the glove box. He shrugs.  “Don’t care enough to do it.”  
  
The guy doesn’t seem offended. “Really?” He grins. “Then why am I sitting here?”  
  
Jensen shrugs. “I was bored. You entertain me.”  
  
The bartender laughs. Low, sharp, resonating sound. “Right. Well, glad I could be of service.”  He blinks owlishly. Mocking Jensen. “Can I go now?” Licks his lips. “Please?”  
  
Jensen doesn’t say anything, just fills the glasses to the brink. The guy takes one. He’s getting off on this just as much as Jensen is.  
  
It burns going down, and when Jensen speaks, it’s scratchy, gritty. Exactly how he feels. Raw. Still figuring out how to get back. How to fit. How to feel _normal._ “Truth?”  
  
“It’s always nice to hear it.”  
  
“Don’t really look forward to going home. Nothing there for me.” Jensen scrubs a hand over his face. It’s a piece of him, but he’s not proud. He wants it different. He wants to believe. “Not today, at least.”  
  
The guy doesn’t say anything. His eyes are locked on Jensen, but there’s no heat. No question, no rebuke, no expectancy. Just –  _it’s okay to feel like this._  
  
  
  


~

  
People tell Jensen stories. People make excuses. People justify unthinkable acts by the life they lead. And Jensen listens. He listens, day after day, finds the shades of gray, understands. It’s his job, it’s his nature, it’s his duty. But sometimes he’s tired. Sometimes he wants to be a stranger in a bar. Sometimes he doesn’t want to have a story behind.  
  
To be transient, untethered by the here and now.  
  
To revel in all he doesn’t know, in all he doesn’t have to ask.  
  
  
  
  


~

 

  
“Tell me ...” Jensen slaps the table with his palm. ”… your greatest fear.”  
  
The bartender answers almost immediately. He’s not fazed by anything Jensen says or asks. Like he doesn’t think about it. Like he’s saying the first thing that crosses his mind.  
  
And that’s different. It fascinates Jensen. There’s no conscious thought behind what comes out of the tall man’s mouth. Words, expressions, irrelevant. He doesn’t care. There’s nothing planned. Just.  _This. Now._ Whatever it is.  
  
“Spiders. The legs, the crawling thing –“ The guy shudders “–and there’s the furry ones and – Jesus. Can we get to the next question, please?”  
  
Jensen laughs. Openly. They’re the only ones left, and the guy is preparing to close, putting the chairs up on the tables, but he stops long enough to twitch nervously, to shake any imaginary eight-legged creatures of doom off him. It’s a funny thing.  
  
“Biggest embarrassment."  
  
The bartender stops, chair in hand, to think. “Well, that’s a long list. Recently?”  
  
Jensen nods, fiddles with the shot glass in his hand, but doesn’t drink.  
  
“Figured out the chicken joke.” He smiles sheepishly. “Bright side, it only took me thirty years?”  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
He grins. “Truth and nothing but, Detective.”  
  
Jensen stares at him. “Santa Claus?”  
  
“Are you telling me he’s not real?”  
  
“Easter Bunny –”  
  
“You’re gonna tell me unicorns, next. “ He smiles soothingly. “I know. I was heartbroken, too.” He passes by, pats Jensen’s shoulder consolingly. “You’ll get over it.”  
  
  
  


~

 

  
The guy is turning the tables on him.  
  
“Favorite color?”  
  
Jensen blinks. “Bartender at night, high school girl all the time?”  
  
“Sure. I’ll write everything in my journal when you leave.”  
  
“Seriously.”  
  
The guy sighs when Jensen doesn’t play along. “Okay, favorite band.” He purses his lips. “No. Favorite song.”  
  
“Original.”  
  
“Don’t piss on my parade, Detective.”  
  
“I just don’t get the point.”  
  
The bartender grins. “Would it be better if I asked you about your favorite football team?”  
  
“It’d be easier.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Fair enough.” Jensen concedes. He pauses for a moment. Thinks. It’s harder than Jensen would have thought. “Blue. Maybe.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“There has to be a reason?”  
  
“Sure. I’m hoping to find the meaning of life. Figure out the alien stuff, too, while I’m at it.”  
  
Jensen eyes him dubiously. Decides that he’s drunk enough to play into it. “Shit. Okay. Don’t laugh at me.”  
  
“Dude. Chicken. Crossing the street.”  
  
Jensen laughs. “Point taken.” He takes a deep breath. “My mom was a cop, too. Runs in the family. “He shrugs, continues tearing the napkin between his fingers into tiny bits. “So, blue and all that shit … guess it’s home. For me.”  
  
There’s a few beats of silence, and Jensen fights the urge to make a run for it. He doesn’t fucking do this. He’s surprised at the words coming out of his mouth – never thought seriously about it – but he can’t deny how true it is.  
  
He still remembers his mom, tucking him in, then lingering, a shadowed figured leaning against the doorframe for a few more moments, watching him smile sleepily at her, mumbling  _good night, sweet dreams._ It’s a long time since then. Even the good memories – the dark is the only thing that he remembers well. And the navy blue, soft, faded, tinted metallic from the light in the hallway.  
  
The bartender takes a few moments till he speaks. “Well, fuck. You could have told me we were doing this.”  
  
Jensen’s brows knit in confusion.  
  
“Being all deep and meaningful and shit. Might have kept me from answers that make me look like I have an IQ in double digits.”  
  
Jensen’s startled into a chuckle. “Yeah. Jury’s still out on that.”  
  
The bartender is done. Except for Jensen’s table, the bar’s all cleaned up, chairs lifted on the tables, lights dimmed – he’s leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles, arms spread out beside him. Jensen’s sprawled on his chair, loose, relaxed, unbidden smile glued to his lips.  
  
There’s a thoughtful expression on the guy’s face.  
  
“Am I hot, at least?”  
  
Jensen leers suggestively. “Sure. About a five. Maybe a six.”  
  
“Funny?”  
  
“Alcohol helps things.”  
  
He nods. Shrugs, then grins contentedly. “Eh. One and a half out of three. I can live with it.”  
  
It’s that easy. But Jensen’s not saying it. He’s past the point of doing the right thing.  
  
“Biggest regret.”  
  
Changing the subject. That always works well for him. Instead, he’s met with a rueful grin.  
  
“Can’t give you the truth on that one, Detective.”  
  
Jensen nods. “Pleading the fifth?”  
  
The bartender shakes his head, eyes still meeting Jensen’s, but they’ve lost the glint. “Nah. Ask me when you’ll understand. When you’ll want to listen to it.”  
  
 _Well. Whatever the fuck that means._  
  
Jensen stands up, pulls his wallet from his pocket, takes out a few bills that he drops on the table. He’s about to leave, when something dawns on him.  
  
“One more thing.”  
  
The bartender eyes Jensen warily.  
  
“I’m Jensen. Your name is  _–_   “  
  
The bartender – _dimples, funny, smart, hot as sin –_ grins.  
  
“Jared. Pleasure meeting you, Detective.”  
  
  
  


~

  
  
  
  
It’s dawn when Jensen stumbles home. He’d picked up his gun and his badge, but didn’t trust himself enough to get behind the wheel. Just as well. He’s pretty much sober by now, just riddled with a lingering exhaustion that he’d held at bay long enough by making a conscious effort not to fall asleep on his feet.  
  
The house is silent.  
  
It’s exactly what he doesn’t need.  
  
He pads soundlessly to the bedroom door. Palm splayed, fingers brushing the hard wood for seconds that stretch into years. He’s doing it again. Falling, giving in, pretending.  
  
He pushes the door lightly.  
  
She’s still there.  
  
Spread out on the bed, soft features stroked by the first rays of light, stray strands of auburn hair swirled around, framing her beautiful face.  
  
Jensen missed Danneel.  
  
He sits on the covers, on the right side of the bed. He’s still dressed. He hasn’t showered. But he can’t care right now. He lays down, hand going automatically over her waist, pulling, until he’s holding her, until her back is pressed to his chest.  
  
She startles a little – but he silences her with a kiss. She melts into it – must sense it’s Jensen, his touch, his lips, the unmistakable smell of smoke, of dirty, wrong.  
  
She wants to say something. Jensen feels it.  
  
But not right now. Jensen can’t hear it.  
  
She’s learned, over the years. She stays silent. Turns to face him, shifts herself closer until she’s burrowed into his side, warm and soft, palm resting over his heart.  
  
He holds her tight.  
  
He falls asleep with sounds of gunfire echoing like fireworks in his head.  
  
  
  


                                                 

  
Jared feels familiar hands on his hips. They grip tight, fingers curling on the hipbones, index finger slipping under the waistband of his boxers, just a tease, and Jared arches back into the heat of the body behind him, shudders when he feels hot puffs of breath on his neck, a tingle that spreads when feather light-kisses are pressed into the sensitive skin.  
  
Jared brings a hand backwards, tangles it in Jason’s soft hair, moans as Jason sucks a bruise into his skin.  
  
“Thought – fuck.” Jared’s breathing hard, has to concentrate to speak. ”Thought you had to leave for class, Mr. Momoa.”  
  
Jason hums, doesn’t answer, just sneaks his hands under Jared’s t-shirt, spreads out his palm over Jared’s abs – and Jared whimpers – because God, those hands, so fucking huge, they feel so fucking good on him – slightest edge to it, nails scraping, digging into his skin.  
  
Fuck. It’s ridiculously easy for Jason to reduce him to this.  
  
Just as Jared’s dick is taking an interest in the proceedings, Jason pulls back, turns Jared to face him – and Jared can’t help but feel smug at how unfocused Jason’s gaze is, eyes dark, all pupil. And then Jason’s kissing him, harsh, rough – and all coherent thought makes a beeline out of his head. Jared growls into the kiss, shoves Jason into the wall behind him, presses himself closer, molds his body against Jason, fingers already fumbling around for the button of Jason’s pants.  
  
Jared bites down on a whimper when Jason cups his ass, pulls Jared impossibly closer – releases his mouth just to trail downwards, suck at the exposed skin when Jared tilts his head back, breath coming ragged, shaky sounds that melt into gasps when Jason sweeps his tongue over his tattoos, grazing his teeth against Jared’s skin, blowing, soothing, an overwhelming combination that has Jared grinding helplessly against him.  
  
Jared’s about to sink to his knees – he’s not too proud to admit he’s a slut for this, gets off on making Jason squirm while he teases the slit, enjoys wringing those breathy, cut-off moans out of him every time he takes him deep, loves when Jason gives in, fucks his face like he’s dying for it. But Jason’s fingers are twisting in his t-shirt, keeping him from it – Jason stills, keeps his hands on the belt of Jared’s jeans, lets his head fall back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, eyes pressing shut, lips parted, trying to get enough air into his lungs.  
  
Jared watches him – and if this is supposed to be any less inviting, it’s doing a very poor job of it, because Jason, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, lips shiny, slightly swollen from kissing, is an unreasonably hot picture, and knowing Jared did that to him – yeah, Jared’s dick is not getting the memo on the whole stopping thing.  
  
“Fuck,” Jason rasps, voice raw, “I really, really have to leave.”  
  
Jared grins. “You started this.”  
  
Jason chuckles, low and dirty. “And I’m going to finish it.”  
  
A wave of heat spreads through Jared, he can’t help the shiver when Jason’s hand slips into the back pocket of his jeans, squeezing. “That better be a promise.”  
  
Jason presses a kiss on his nose. Smiles so wide, Jared’s sure he’s going to break something. “It is.”  
  
Jared wrinkles his nose, feigns annoyance. “You’re not fucking me in the hallway.”  
  
Jared had barely managed to drop his keys into the little box they keep by the front door before Jason derailed him.  
  
“If you’d been home earlier, we could have been doing this in a bed, properly.”  
  
There’s no heat in the words – they’re thrown around a grin. As much an inconvenience as their conflicting schedules are, it’s easy. Easy because there aren’t rules, there aren’t any strings to get tangled in – it’s strange, it’s a pretty fucking weird version of a healthy relationship, considering neither ever put a label on it in all the years they lived together, or bothered to lie about being exclusive – but it works. In its fucked-up way, it works – and Jared swears by it.  
  
Jared disentangles himself from Jason’s hands with a sigh, slips out of his boots and jacket.  _Really. Patience. Jason never heard of it._  
  
“Yeah. Sorry. New guy came in. Stayed until closing.”  
  
“Cop?”  
  
Jared nods, takes his t-shirt off unceremoniously while Jason’s adjusting his pants.  
  
“Yeah. Think he just got done with an undercover stint.”  
  
Jason smoothes out the collar of his blue shirt, raises his head to throw Jared a cheeky grin.  
  
“So, what, you gave him a blowjob to ease him back into things?”  
  
Jared throws his newly discarded jeans at Jason. There’s a muffled  _Ow_ and Jared briefly considers a career as a pitcher.  
  
 _God._ He stinks. The reek of alcohol and smoke sticks to his sweaty skin. No matter how much he loves this gig, it’s the one thing that he wishes he could change. He feels dirty after a night like this.  
  
He pads down to the bathroom in his boxers, and Jason follows him, leans on the doorframe as Jared turns the water on, waits for it to heat up. Also a thing with them – no boundaries.  
  
“We talked. I think –“ Jared starts, pauses to consider what he’s going to say. He threads his fingers through his hair. Jared thinks a lot of things. But truth is, he doesn’t  _know_ anything. “Honestly, I think he just needed to talk. Shoot the shit. Something uncomplicated that took his mind off things.”  
  
Jason nods understandingly. It’s one of the reason Jared loves him – he doesn’t need words to figure out what Jared means. Or when he’s done talking.  
  
Jared smiles, meets his eyes in the mirror, looks fondly at him. “He’s pretty.”  
  
Jason promptly schools his features into mock outrage. “Prettier than me?”  
  
Jared turns, takes the few steps to him. Raises himself on tiptoes to press a kiss to Jason’s forehead. Because against any law and rule of the universe, Jared managed to find the only person in the world as tall as him for a boyfriend. Or, well, as an  _undefined thing._ “Nah. You’re the prettiest of them all, princess.” He crushes their lips in what’s a decidedly less innocent kiss, but pulls back quickly. “Now go. Go shape the future minds of this country.”  
  
Jason laughs. “Jay, it’s kindergarten. We draw octopuses.”  
  
“Never know. Maybe the CIA recruits early. Better get a start on things.”  
  
“Sure. Today we’ll fit in external politics in between  _Wheels on the Bus_ and origami.”  
  
Jared grins. “See? World peace. Easy.”  
  
Jason shakes his head.  
  
Leaves with a smile and a kiss pressed into Jared’s cheek.  
  
 _Yeah_ , Jared thinks as he closes his eyes, lets the warm water wash over him. It’s too fucking easy.  
  
  
  


                                              


  
  
  
  
He’s trapped.  
  
There isn’t enough air. Choking. Grey spots dancing, inviting. His heart, beating faster, and faster, until –  
Jensen opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling.  
  
He’s trapped inside himself.  
  
He’s drowning in all he feels.  
  
He’s smothered by all he can’t.  
  
The world goes on. Spins, and spins around him. He watches, an outsider to himself, to all his emotions, how he doesn’t matter. How he can’t change a thing.  
  
It was there, he’s sure. The part where he feels. He thinks. That’s his default setting.  _I think this is sad. I think this is bad. I think I’m not happy, I think I never was._  
  
Maybe there’s nothing wrong with the world. Because the world isn’t perfect. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.  
  
He feels alone. Overwhelmed by the fragmented chaos. Alone in a way that people that don’t understand themselves are. People who try, not people who  _are,_ those who just exist, people who don’t construct themselves based on a definition of what they should be, a multi-faceted nebulous identity, changing, imperfect, because people expect, people need, people shape him inadvertently.  
  
He’s broken in a world of perfect people, in a world where it always feels like Jensen is on the outside looking in.  
  
It should be more. It should be.  
  
Danneel should be enough to pull him back from the brink.  
  
But she can’t. It’s him.  
  
Only he doesn’t know what that means.  
  
It can be a day when he’s a good person. A day when he’s a bastard, when he does things that fall so far over the line, he can’t even see it.  
  
And he’s both. He’s good, he’s bad.  
  
He’s a good cop.  
  
He figures that matters more than anything.  
  
It’s pointless. The struggle. He does what he should. What is moral. As much as he can figure out what that is. There’s a voice at the back of his mind; it tells him what he shouldn’t. It’d be just as easy to fall on the other side of the line _._ It trails off. He never lets himself give in. Not fully.  
  
He finds a tether, a memory, a reflection. He needs to see the person he wants to be, to keep the fantasy alive that maybe, maybe there’s hope for him.  
  
He loves. People who he shouldn’t. Who hurt him, who don’t deserve him. And people who deserve more.  
  
There’s no guilt. Just, maybe, a question.  
  
A question of who would  – can – love  _him._  
  
  
  
  


                                                


  
  
  
_You have one unheard message._  
  
Jared presses the button. He already knows what he’s going to hear. But he listens, every time. He has to.  
  
A gruff voice fills the room.  
  
 _Still not talking, I see_.  _Fine._  
  
A dry, humorless laugh.  
  
 _Isn’t like I wasn’t expecting it. God. I don’t even know why I’m bothering._  
  
Neither does Jared. He doesn’t deserve it.  
  
 _You’re an asshole, Jay. Sara took her first steps yesterday. Made a video and everything. Wanted to send it to you – she’s laughing. I’m telling you, man, I’m buying a shotgun. She has the Padalecki dimples._  
  
The voice grows quieter, but more determined.  
  
 _And then I remembered. I don’t have an address. Not even email. I don’t have anything. You just took off on me. Left a phone number that I don’t even know if it‘s still working. So fuck you. Fuck you for leaving, fuck you for being selfish – I needed –_  
  
The voice trails off, a soft rustle, then indistinct mumbling.  
  
 _Shit. I promised her I wouldn’t do this._  
  
A pause, and Jared wonders if there’s more to it.  
  
 _Not giving up on you, Jay. Never. You never did with me. So I’m returning the favor. But I’m tired, man. I don’t even know if you’re hearing me._  
  
The voice, pleading. It hurts like a bitch.  
  
 _Jay, call me. Please._  
  
Jared lays in bed, stares at the ceiling, long after the beep.  
  
It’s almost noon when he finally falls asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

 

                                      

                                           

 

 

  
Jensen does his job. It’s hard, getting back to it. It feels like there’s always someone, something there, watching him – he’s on edge, he snaps at Chris, he’s short on patience with the suspects, he’s reckless, he doesn’t wait for back-up to barge in. The downside of almost a year when he couldn’t trust anyone or anything.  
  
But Chris is there. He takes the heat with the captain for the little things – overdue reports, irrelevant but mandatory paperwork missing – and Jensen’s immensely grateful for it.  
  
It’s a routine ingrained years in the making, as much friendship as partnership – and it works, Jensen’s getting back, to himself, to somewhat  _right –_  the undercover work always leaves him with scars, with things that’ll play in his mind on repeat, with mistakes, with regrets, with blood on his hands he can’t quite rinse off.  
  
But he loves it. He enjoys it. He knows he was made for it.  
  
He looks them in the eye – the people he caught, sees the look of relief on the victims – and he knows, it’s worth it. Everything. Someone’s safe because of him.  
  
He clocks out. Steady, reliable, comforting regularity. Walks the short distance to the bar across the street from the precinct.  
  
Tries to forget – what he does, what he did, just so he can wake up and do it all over again.  
  
Jared’s helping him.  
  
Jared never asks. He lets Jensen tell stories. He jokes– and Jensen notices, the friendliness is not particular to him. There’s always banter, all the cops are comfortable with him – Jared’s open, easy-going, because Jared listens, talks, yet never gives away anything substantial about himself, there’s enough mystery to him that keeps people guessing – he seems to know what they need.  
  
And for now, that’s something Jensen can live with.  
  
Especially when it’s that dimpled smile that greets him.  
  
“Welcome back, Detective.” Jared holds up a hand, arches an eyebrow, eyes full of mischief. “Wait. You come back for me or the beer?”  
  
Jensen laughs, props himself on the seat.  
  
  
  


 

                                                      

  
  
  
Jared’s getting used to it.  
  
The pattern Jensen sets for the nights he comes in.  
  
Sometimes Jensen stays until closing.  
  
They talk.  Conversations about nothing and everything, well into the night when everything’s silent, when there’s just a faint buzzing from the cooler that needs to be replaced.  
  
Jared learns things. Slowly, surely.  
  
He learns that Jensen is this freakish alien creature that functions on four, five hours of sleep. Jared also learns that Jensen’s funny – in the  _no shit, idiot_ kind of way that should be really insulting. It isn’t. It’s just as endearing as the eye crinkles that form whenever Jensen smiles broadly.  
  
Jensen loves action movies. Jared almost falls over laughing when Jensen’s eyes glaze over while talking about the  _Die Hard_  trilogy.  
  
Jensen loves music to be easy, soothing, even if he’d never outright admit it. Jared sees how his shoulders lose the tension when there’s jazz playing, low, strums on acoustic guitars, soft notes of piano, no lyrics.  
  
And sometimes Jensen stays for little more than five minutes, doesn’t drink.  
  
Jared enjoys his presence more than he’d care to admit.  
  
Jared eventually hears about Danneel. Jensen talks about dinners at fancy restaurants and charity events, stuffy, dreadful, paste-a-smile-on types of things that he’s roped into attending. But he also tells Jared about how Danneel’s the most enthusiastic chick in the crowd at football games. How she drinks him under the table on any given day, how intimidating a lawyer she is – all these little details that clue Jared in – big, bright letters that read _Jensen loves Danneel_.  
  
Jared listens, because Jensen’s green eyes light up when he talks, when he gets going.  
  
And Jared thinks about Jason, about how much he wishes there would be more to it – to them – and he wonders, why being happy isn’t enough, what piece are they missing – because Jason’s a good man, someone who’s always been there when Jared needed him, but who also relied on Jared because he knew Jared was strong enough to take it, never treated him like a broken little thing Jason needed to fix. Jason, with his sleepy smile in the morning, with his boundless energy that he wraps in a neat little package of a calm, collected exterior – so determined, so committed to anything he’s doing, so kind, so unwavering in his belief that time heals everything.  
  
They’ve talked about it, over the years – what they mean, if it would ever be enough to ride into the sunset, get their happy ending together – but he could see in Jason’s eyes, and he knew – they were thinking the same thing – they’re mismatched pieces from different puzzles that somehow fit – they love each other, probably more than they ever did anyone before – but it’s tinged with an acceptance, with a resignation of the next best thing, not the fairytale, not the dream.  
  
And Jared was okay with that, because he didn’t really believe. He’d laugh at the people who were looking for Prince Charming, for the one, for a soul mate or such bullshit – he didn’t answer the question of “where do you see yourself in ten years?” with the standard  _thriving career, husband, kids_  – he never wanted it, never had faith in such a perfect illusion – just wanted somebody to share life with.  
  
And he found it. Jason was a good thing.  
  
And sometimes, Jensen comes in, talks, and Jared wishes Jensen wouldn’t leave.  
  
             


 

                                             

  
  
  
Jensen’s in the middle of paperwork when his phone dings.  
  
_Havin’ fun yet, Detective?_  
  
Jared. Of course it’s him. Jensen lets a small smile spread over his lips.  
  
_Sure. Beer. Whiskey. Strippers. Whipped cream. Livin’ the dream._  
  
There’s about a minute long wait till the next text comes in.  
  
_Hot strippers?_  
  
Then another, seconds from it.  
  
_Also, whipped cream? I’d have taken you for straight vanilla, Detective._  
  
Jensen abandons any pretense he’s actually working.  
  
_Jared, we talked about this. Civilized people use first names when they speak._  
  
After a few minutes he receives,  _Yeah, yeah. But Jensen doesn’t have the same ring to it._  
  
Jensen can actually imagine him pouting.  _Tough. Use it._  
  
_Sir, yes, sir._ A short pause, then,  _You’re sexy like this._  
  
Jensen suppresses a grin.  _Cranky?_  
  
_Bossy._  
  
It’s flirting. But it’s also Jared, who always talks like this. Jensen shakes his head fondly.  
  
_Late night. Heading straight home after. You have a shift?_  
  
It’s a good half hour till he gets an answer.  _Sorry. Shower. And, no. Switched shifts with Katie. Have to take care of something._  
  
Jensen frowns at the screen.  _All good?_  
  
_Yeah._ Five seconds later,  _Truth. No. But it will be._ Then,  _Have a good night, Detective._  
  
Jensen smiles all the way through writing the most boring report in existence. Doesn’t even bother correcting Jared.  
  
  
  


 

                                            

  
  
  
  
“This time, it really wasn’t me.”  
  
Right. Sure. Those kind of words coming out of Chad’s mouth are really hard to believe. “So you’re not tall, blonde, and an asshole?”  
  
Chad’s eyes narrow to slits. “The fuck you mean, an asshole? I’m the classiest guy you could meet.”  
  
Jared laughs, quiet, dimmed. Because, really. It’s too easy. He slides into the driver’s seat just as Chad opens the passenger door with a little more force than necessary, and a grumbled reply that sounds suspiciously like  _fuck you, you’re an asshole._  
  
Jared shakes his head, and starts the engine.  
  
“So, what’d you do this time?”  
  
Chad grumbles petulantly. “Nothing.”  
  
“Chad. It’s the second time I’m bailing you out.  _This week._ You owe me.”  
  
“You know, Jay, it would be nice for you to have some faith in me.”  
  
“So. You slash his tires?”  
“We’ve been friends since we were kids.”  
  
“Hers?”  
  
“Honestly. You’d think that would mean something.“  
  
“You egged his house.”  
  
“I mean, we went through all this shit together. “  
  
“Sent him porny emails?”  
  
“I told you about my first kiss, you told me about Nate and everything –“  
  
“Fucked the wedding planner? Threw a fit? Got drunk and serenaded them?”  
  
Chad looks at him. “Dude. It was with a guitar and everything. Give me some credit.”  
  
Jared almost misses his turn. “Seriously?”  
  
Chad shrugs. “They looked like they were having a nice evening.”  
  
“Right. Why not ruin it.”  
  
Chad nods. “Exactly. I was in the neighborhood anyway – “  
  
“You were stalking her –“  
  
“To-hmatoes and all that shit.”  
  
Jared resists the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel.  
  
He sighs. “Chad, man, you know all this has to stop, right? She’s happy with him.”  
  
Chad doesn’t say anything. He even looks something resembling guilty.  
  
Jared’s not keen on giving this particular speech again. He’s done it too many times with no result to show for it. And as much of a brother as Chad is to him – he can’t blame Sophia for what she’s doing, for moving on, for wanting to put distance between them, between all that being with Chad means.  
  
Two years can’t have healed all Chad did – not the cheating – not everything he’s done since, not when Chad is asking for forgiveness with a rock to her window, drunk and cursing a blue streak. Jared would be angry, he’d hold on to disappointed, but he knows how fucked Chad is over it. Knows how much he hates himself for it.  
  
Watches as Chad digs himself deeper.  
  
Chad’s voice is scratchy, raw when he speaks.  _This_ is Chad.  _This_ is Chad, defeated, crippled by all his faults, by all he’s done wrong to those who loved him.  
  
 “Jay … she has my daughter. She has Em. She won’t let me see her.”  
  
Jared doesn’t take his eyes off the road. It’s easier. “I know. I know, buddy. But she’s fine. You gotta trust me on that. She calls me Fridays, every week.” Jared keeps his voice steady. “She tells me how was school. Tells me what letter they’ve learned every week. She’s good, Chad. She’s good. She’s asking me if Daddy’s still sick. When he’s going to get better and come to visit her. ” Jared sneaks a glance at Chad – but he’s turned towards the window, shoulders shaking silently. Jared goes on. Tears don’t solve anything. “That’s why you have to be done with this shit. I can’t – I’m going to bail you, every time, but, God, Chad – I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself first.”  
  
Chad gives a watery laugh. “You been reading the leaflets, Jay?”  
  
Jared shrugs. “Someone has to.”  
  
They’re home. Jared pulls over. Waits. Chad’s still staring out the window.  
  
Jared patiently drums a silent beat over the steering wheel. He knows this, too. This is the part with  _I’m sorry._ The part with  _I promise._ The part where Chad looks broken, looks like that orphan kid again, lost, helpless – where Jared gives in, where Jared hopes, where Jared wonders how did it get to this.  
  
But, this time, Chad says nothing. He turns, eyes bloodshot, red-rimmed, tear tracks on his cheeks. Brings a hand, squeezes Jared’s shoulder.  
  
Smiles.  
  
It makes Jared want to punch things.  
  
And it scares him. Jared’s afraid. He’s afraid Chad’s giving up.  
  
Jared stays quiet. Lets Chad sleep it off on his couch. Calls Sophia, asks how much he needs to pay for the damages.  
  
  


 

                                                  

  
  
  
“So, you done being a hermit?”  
  
Chris scoffs, picks at a blood spot in the carpet, signals something to the crime unit. “I want a quiet night. Me, my game and me. So sue me.”  
  
“Jesus. When’d you turn into your father, Sparky?”  
  
Chris smacks Jensen’s foot with the evidence bag. There’s a man’s left toe in it. “About the time you turned into the naggin’ wife. Now move your ass. You’re standing on the evidence.”  
  
“Am not.”  
  
Chris raises himself up to full height. “What are you, five, Ackles? Move. I can’t see anything.”  
  
“Say you’re coming.”  
  
“Well, if you asked so nicely.”  
  
Jensen stands his ground. “Come on. We’ll bring Sanchez. You like her, don’t you?”  
  
Chris studies him. “I like Rogers better.” He smirks. “She’s fiery.”  
  
Jensen huffs out a laugh. “You just like her ‘cause she handed you your ass in the gym last week.”  
  
“She’s … flexible.”  
  
“She can also knock you out in under a minute.”  
  
Chris leers. “Ah, my friend – but what a minute it’ll be.”  
  
Jensen moves to the side. “Fine. Sign yourself a death wish.” Pauses, wonders how to phrase it without sounding like a twelve year old writing in her diary.  
  
“I don’t know, man. I think we could use this. ‘S been a tough few weeks. Months, even.”  
  
Chris nods in that way of his that’s half fond, half mocking.  
  
“You know …” He pauses. Grins. “It’s been a long time since I rocked and rolled –“  
  
Jensen goes with it. It’s the little things.  
  
 “– let you get it back?”  
  
“– lonely, lonely, lonely time –“ Jensen dodges the air guitar flailing, and Chris finishes with a flourish. “Yes it has.”  
  
Then he bows. Because he’s Chris. The crime unit, the building manager, and the guy currently decomposing on the floor mark it as a stellar performance. Or stare blankly. Same thing.  
  
Jensen grins. He’s glad they’re back to this. And he supposes there’s worse things in life than his partner humming a little Zeppelin at a crime scene.  
  
  


 

                                          

  
  
  
  
Jared meets Chris Kane, Jensen’s friend since childhood and partner of many years, two months after Jensen first came into the bar. Jared brilliantly deduces Chris doesn’t like him when he tries to talk to him, only to receive answers that are clipped and monosyllabic, and finds himself engaging in conversation with the napkins on the table, because Kane is straight-up ignoring him.  
  
Jensen makes a valiant attempt to steer the conversation into neutral territory, to get them all talking – but it’s kind of pointless – Chris is much more interested in hitting on the girl they’d come in with.  
  
Jared smiles tightly. He can’t force it. Especially when, during a brief absence on Jensen’s part to take a piss, Chris informs Jared that he did a background check on him, and promptly proceeds to list his rap sheet.  
  
Jared gets that Chris is not exactly pleased with his findings. Well, it isn’t like Jared’s proud of it.  
  
But he goes with it. Nods. Doesn’t say anything. He’s used to people judging him – and point blank, he doesn’t give a shit. He knows who he is, what’s made him the man that he sees in the mirror, and, as painful as some of it is, it’s  _his_ , his to carry and his to deal with – choices that made sense at certain points, all part of what’s woven an intricate design to the life he leads.  
  
Once he comes back, Jensen realizes he’s missed something – but he doesn’t ask, and beyond a few more dismissive comments on Chris’ part, the evening goes smoothly. By some miracle, it isn’t even as awkward as it could be.  
  
But Jared’s sure Jensen won’t ask him for drinks again when Chris is there.  
  


 

                                             

  
“Hey.” Danneel presses a kiss to his lips, burrows next to Jensen on the couch. “What’re we watching?”  
  
Jensen puts his arms around her almost reflexively. “Train wrecks. People making use of the lonely brain cell they possess. Or ignoring it. I’m still deciding on it.”  
  
She punches him in the shoulder. Lightly. “Shut up. It’s entertaining.”  
  
Jensen nods dutifully. She smiles at him. “You like it, Ackles. Don’t lie to me.”  
  
“You’re the one recording it.”, he huffs out indignantly.  
  
“And you’re the one watching it at three in the morning.”  
  
Jensen concedes the point.  
  
It takes about five minutes for things on screen to go apeshit – naturally– and by the time they’re throwing punches, Jensen’s kind of bored, because, really, it’s all very predictable, so he tunes out the  _Real World of Something_ and focuses on Danneel.  
  
“How was your day?”  
  
She doesn’t takes her eyes off the screen. “Good. Kicked ass in court.”  
  
 “Of course you did.”  
  
Danneel turns to look at him and beams. “Damn straight, baby.”  
  
Jensen returns the grin, but looks at her with concern. “But you can’t sleep.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So there’s something on your mind.”  
  
There’s a few moments of silence filled with by the yelling of the people on TV. Danneel sighs, slips out of his arms, straightens besides him. “It’s just this new case I’m working. Met with the client today. I don’t know … there’s something about him.”  
  
“Bad something?”  
  
She shrugs. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” She meets Jensen’s gaze, holds it. “He’s accused of murdering his girlfriend.”  
  
Nothing new. But it’s the next words that clue him in, and Danneel chewing her lip nervously. “I think … I think he did it, you know? Not like an accident or something. Just – he had all the right words. The grief, the tears …“  
  
“But?”  
  
“Something’s off. About the whole thing.”  
  
Danneel doesn’t do nervous. Never did. Maybe that’s why he liked her.  
  
“So drop him.”  
  
She shakes her head, shifts closer, goes back to resting against Jensen’s shoulder. “Can’t. Big money. The firm needs it.” Jensen feels her shrug against him. “Besides, it’s just – it doesn’t really matter. Not the way I want it to. It’s a client, and there’s nothing more to it.”  
  
Jensen wants to say,  _trust your instinct_. He doesn’t. Danneel’s stubborn, and once she puts her mind to something, it’s pointless to argue about it. Besides, that’s not who they are, the relationship they have – they do their own thing. Sure, there’s stories shared over dinner, advice or a good laugh about the cases they’re working – but in the end, that’s all there is. Never personal things. Never how it affects them, never about the things they’ve heard and seen – the nightmares, the horror there is to it.  
  
They work because neither pushes past who the other pretends to be.  
  
Danneel knows it, too – she changes the subject effortlessly.  
  
“Anyway. How was boys’ night out, darling?”  
  
Jensen scoffs, “You make it sound like I’m thirteen.” She chuckles. “It was fine.”  
  
“Fine?”  
  
Jensen shrugs. “Chris is an asshole.”  
  
“And that’s a new thing?”  
  
“No. I don’t know … I guess I just wanted it to go well.”  
  
Danneel doesn’t say anything. Because she knows Jensen wouldn’t know how to answer her next question – why it’s so important to him that Jared get along with Chris.  
  
The silence stretches until they fall asleep.  
  
  


 

                                                

  
  
_You have two unheard messages._  
  
Jared scrubs a hand over his face. He’s so tired. He doesn’t want to hear it. But it’s a lifeline. It’s a constant. Nate’s good – he has to be. That’s the only way he can go forward.  
  
He presses the button, fiddles with the pen in his other hand. Jason’s voice startles him a little. It’s not the one he was expecting.  
  
_Hey, Jay. It’s me. Still alive. Barely. Remind me not to go on camping trips with six year olds again? Even if it’s to see majestic birds and rare species and shit._  
  
Jared laughs. Jason loves the kids, but he guesses that a full day with a dozen of them, and only two other adults in the vicinity can have that effect.  
_Anyway. Hope you survived Jensen’s friends. Or not. Having a whole apartment to myself sounds like a very tempting idea right now._ Jared scowls at the phone. There’s a chuckle on the other end.  _Kidding. Love you, Jay._ A pause. _Also. Don’t do them in pen. Had to buy another book because you got frustrated. The newspaper stand guy thinks I have a Sudoku fetish or something._ Jared scrambles to put away the pen in his hand. Jason knows him too well.  _See you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late._  
  
Jared smiles.  _Okay, mom._ Braces himself. He’s sure the other message won’t be as pleasant.  
  
_Jay. It’s Nate._ He sounds tired.  _How you doing?_ There’s a long pause, like he’s actually expecting an answer. Waiting.  _I don’t know what to say anymore. Seems like I tried everything. And you still don’t talk to me._ A sharp inhale, then his voice, again, small and quiet.  _What did I do, Jared? What did I do to deserve this?_ Nothing, Jared wants to say.  _Nothing, I was a coward, I ran away_ – he wants to pick up the phone, call, talk, explain – but he can’t – it’s too hard, he’s still a coward, he’s still running. The man on the other line clears his throat.  _God. I always do this. I’m stupid that way._ A weary sigh.  _Sara says hi. Call, Jay. Please._  
Jared balls his hands into fists. Stares at the phone for a few seconds. Lets himself feel – the loss, the guilt, the desperation. Just for a few seconds. That’s all he needs.  
  
Gathers himself. Picks up a pencil, starts filling in the little squares.  
  
He forgets. He’s had a lot of practice at it.  



	3. Chapter 3

 

 

  
                                           

 

  
Jensen is a bad, bad man, and stakeouts with Chris are the universe’s way to punish him.  
  
That’s the working theory.  
  
Because Chris? Chris is munching contentedly on his onion rings, chewing loudly, smacking his lips to give Jensen the full experience. And then he’s slurping, slowly draining a pink Slurpee.  
  
Jensen watches him. Grits his teeth.  
  
He knows Chris is doing it intentionally, driving it to the extreme – which, great, there’s still hope for him – but it doesn’t make it any less annoying. Jensen’s about to snatch the plastic cup out of his hands and throw it out the window, when Chris finally stops. To speak. With his mouth full. Jensen grips the steering wheel to keep his hands from connecting with Chris’ face.  _Delicately._ Repeatedly.  
  
“Looks like the kid forgot about Granny.”  
  
That’s the other thing. This stakeout has to be the most boring thing in existence. It could put insomniacs to sleep. They’re looking for a witness that had given them the slip a day before – and the only thing they’ve managed to connect to him is his eighty-seven year old grandmother.  _Naturally._  
  
In the four hours they’ve been here – melting under midday heat – Granny watering her flower beds in front of the house has been the most exciting thing. So, yeah. Jensen’s just this side of frustrated.  
  
But praise all that is holy, Chris stops eating.  
  
Small mercies.  
  
Or not, because now that his mouth is otherwise unoccupied – not that Chris would let that deter him – he starts talking.  
  
“So. How’s Danneel?”  
  
Jensen wonders what the jail time would be for poking his partner’s eyes out with the straw of a Slurpee.  
  
“Also – don’t spare the details.”  
  
Surely the judge would be sympathetic.  
  
“None of your business, Kane.” Jensen glares at him. “Now let me overheat in peace.”  
  
Chris ignores him. Sometimes Jensen thinks the guy doesn’t possess a survival instinct.  
  
“You double-dipping it?” Chris smirks. “Come on, Ackles. Spill. ”  
  
Jensen splutters for a moment. Actually forgets he wants to strangle Chris.  
  
“What?”  
  
Chris rolls his eyes. “Oh, give me a break, Jensen. I’ve seen the way you look at him. “  
  
Jensen blinks. “Kane. You high or something?”  
  
“Right. I’m just saying. Danni doesn’t deserve it.”  
  
Jensen’s starting to get pissed. “The fuck you’re on about, Chris?”  
  
Chris just fixes him with his eyes, expectant – and, if Jensen’s reading it right – slightly disappointed. And that just takes the fucking cake, because he hasn’t done  _anything._  
  
He more or less snaps at Chris, voice reaching a dangerous pitch. “I’m not fucking him!”  
  
Chris arches an eyebrow. Stares at Jensen. Jensen glares right back at him.  
  
Chris breaks eye contact after a few long seconds. Shrugs, goes back to scanning the street.  
  
Jensen huffs out an irritated sigh, but doesn’t say anything.  
  
  


 

~

  
  
  
Hour six, and Jensen is just about ready to crawl out of his skin.  
  
And because  _I Spy_ lost its appeal after all those times in second grade when Chris cheated, they’re back to talking – there’s something that’s been nagging at Jensen for a while.  
  
“What’s your problem with him?”  
  
Chris, for all his flaws – is not stupid. He catches on quick.  
  
His tone is flat, steady. “I don’t have one, Jensen.”  
  
Jensen snorts. “Yeah, whatever you say, Sparky.”  
  
Chris turns his head to look at him, but it takes a while for him to speak. He studies Jensen, tries to gauge the motive for the sudden questioning.  
  
 “You really don’t see it, do you?”  
  
“See what?”  
  
Chris shakes his head. “Nothing.”  
  
Jensen sighs. “Chris, we teleport into a soap opera or something when I wasn’t looking? Fucking say what you have to say. Don’t give me this nothing bullshit.”  
  
Chris looks pained when he answers. “Fucking hell. Shouldn’t have said anything.” He scrubs a hand over his eyes, sighs. “Just. Make sure you know who he is before jumping in. That you like him for the right reasons.”  
  
That was definitely not what Jensen was expecting.  
  
“I don’t even know what the fuck that means, Chris.”  
  
“Look. Justin was a cheating asshole. Jeff was a self-involved bastard that couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about anything. And Danni … well, I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing with Danni. But you have a habit of pickin’ people that aren’t worth it. And I thought you finally broke the pattern.”  
  
Jensen purses his lips in a thin line. “And you think he’s the same.”  
  
“Don’t matter what I think. Don’t know him enough to have a say in it. But Jensen, man … there’s a reason you stayed with Justin, Jeff – let them treat you the way they did. Beats me why, but you have some fucked-up idea in your head that’s all you’re worth.” Chris shrugs. “All I’m saying is … don’t give up a good thing just because he has a nice ass and he treats you with basic human decency.”  
  
Jensen watches the street, takes a moment to think.  
  
“I – Jared’s not like that,“ he says after a few beats. “Jared isn’t  _anything.”_  
  
Jensen doesn't know exactly how true it is. Truth, lie – something in between that justifies staying with Danneel. Justifies it because it’s easy, because Jensen doesn’t have to think about it – she’s there. And sometimes, so is he.  
  
Chris nods, but smiles ruefully. “Yeah. That’s why you knew exactly who I meant without me saying.”  
  
Jensen’s sure that somewhere along the way, Jared’s name was mentioned – he’s sure, because he doesn’t want to admit he didn’t even think about it – it’s always Jared, always him on Jensen’s mind lately.  
  
But Chris knows him. And he’s just looking out for Jensen. Always has, since they were snot-nosed kids. He supposes he’s lucky to have a friend like him.  
  
“Chris –“  
  
Chris shakes his head, raises his hand dismissively.  
  
“Always going to have your back, Ackles. No need to thank me for it.”  
  
Jensen grins. “That’s really sweet of you, Chris. But I was going to say –“ he points a finger to the windshield, “Granny’s making a run for it.”  
  
Chris takes a second to stare dumbly before he flies out of the car, yelling.  
  
  


 

~

  
  
  
  
“Ow. Motherfucking ow – Jesus Christ – have you ever sewn anything that isn’t your own fingers to the back of a pig?”  
  
Chris is growling. And terrifying the interns. Par for the course when he ends up in the ER.  
  
Turns out, Granny is pretty fierce.  
  
She almost mows down Chris with her car – because, apparently, standing in front of one, trying to stop an old lady, is only a good idea in the movies.  
  
As it is, Chris has a broken leg, a few cuts and bruises, and very little left of his dignity.  
  
Jensen’s barely finished laughing.  
  
Chris glares at him. “Fucking bastard. Didn’t laugh at you when you broke your nose falling in that dumpster searching for evidence.”  
  
Jensen snorts. “You took a photo, Chris. There were still unidentified substances on my tie and everything.”  
  
Chris leans back on the pillow. Smirks. “Still have it.”  He tries to move his right foot, only to wince. “Shit. Should have followed her instead. She was meeting with him.”  
  
Jensen shakes his head – he’d considered the possibility.  
  
“Nah, man. The guy’s smart. Lost two patrol cars yesterdays. He knows his shit – wouldn’t have made it that easy. At the very least, he’s given Granny some tips. They both could have been in the wind by now.” Jensen pats him on the shoulder. “Good thing we had you, you big, brave hero.”  
  
Chris smiles slightly, nods, but he’s not all that convinced. For all he jokes, he takes the job very seriously. He looks like he’s going to say something – but decides against it.  
  
Just as well. Jensen’s so done with the introspective shit.  
  
He takes Chris home, ignores his grumbling, seats him in front of the TV, and props a case of beer near him.  
  
Chris is entirely too easy to deal with when it comes to self-medicating.  
  
  


 

~

  
  
At the bar Jensen slips out of his suit jacket, props himself on the stool.  
  
It’s been a good day. It’s been a good day, because they can laugh about it. He smiles at Katie who has come back from Europe with all kinds of amusing stories.  
  
She notices him, returns it, signals that she’ll be right with him, and turns back to pouring an alarming number of beers for the already unsteady patrons in front of her.  
  
Jensen must be early. He pretty much never catches Katie, arrives well into Jared’s shift and more often than not, stays until closing. He guesses he has to thank Chris and lovely Mrs. Robinson for it.  
  
He replays the memory in his head. Ah, precious blackmail material for years. He can’t wait to tell Jared about it. And that thought – that’s probably not a good thing. And it’s happening more often than Jensen would like to admit. Jared has kind of become Jensen’s information dump. Be it a case, a funny story, or just Jensen’s ramblings when he’s drunk – Jensen can always count on Jared to remember a month later and slip it into the conversation at the right moment, in the right fucking spot to make Jensen feel like they’ve known each other for years.  
  
Jensen shakes his head – Chris’ words are still fresh in his mind. But frankly, he doesn’t want to deal with it. He has no fucking clue what he’s feeling, or why he’s feeling it, and tonight, he’s not particularly interested in sifting through all the repressed shit that gnaws at him.  
  
He turns around, casts a cursory glance over the bar – a habit that he can’t quite quit, an awareness of his surroundings that follows him. There’s the usual boisterous crowd, a relatively quiet table that looks like it’s all about discussing business, some couples, kissing – all in all, nothing all that exciting.  
  
That is, until his brain catches up to what he’s seeing.  
  
Jensen’s eyes backtrack to a corner table. There’s two guys. Kissing. Enthusiastically, hands under the table, gripping, groping, scratching at the inseam of their jeans. And Jensen’s not the kind of hypocrite that has a problem with it – except. Except one of the guys is Jared. Jared is pulling back from the kiss, and there, for all the world to see – flushed, swollen lips, slightly ruffled hair where the other guy’s hand is tangled in it.  
  
The part of Jensen’s brain that decided ogling Jared is in fact, not appropriate and actually a bad idea has apparently committed hara kiri, because all Jensen can think is Jared’s breathtaking like this. Which, great, but Jensen really doesn’t know what do with that particular piece of information. Or what it means for him. Especially when the  _this_  is with another guy who clearly has something going on with Jared.  
  
So much for an uncomplicated evening. Jensen’s sorting through what he’s feeling when Katie decides to join him.  
  
“What’ll be, Detective?”  
  
She seems oblivious to his current predicament – until she follows his gaze, in time to see the guy plant a kiss on Jared’s nose – on Jared’s  _nose_ – in a public setting, and hear Jared laugh, carefree, easy, features sliding into a toothy grin.  
  
Jensen’s kind of staring blankly.  
  
He thought he knew – understood, on some level, who Jared is. And this – this magazine-perfect image – it just doesn’t fucking fit.  
  
And neither does the way the other guy is manhandling Jared.  
  
Katie cuts in. “Yep. They’re always disgustingly adorable like this. Or, well, you know, really fucking hot if you’re inclined to that kind of thing.”  
  
She ends the sentence smirking, tracking the other guy’s movements as he gets up and heads for the exit, giving her a small smile and a half-wave on the way with a hand holding car keys. She answers with a knowing grin.  
  
Jensen’s still really fucking confused about all of this.  
  
He watches Jared make his way behind the bar, face lit, happier than Jensen’s ever seen him.  
  
Jensen orders a scotch, neat.  
  


 

~

  
  
  
“So. You have a boyfriend.”  
  
Jensen’s tone is mostly flat. Mostly. He can’t quite keep all the emotions out of it – he’s surprised, he’s confused, he’s even a bit angry. Because Jared – Jared  _looks_  at him. And he’s not exactly subtle about it.  
  
Jared meets his eyes, slightly surprised, but it’s brief – he schools his features into a smile shortly.  
  
“Sort of. Mostly.”  
  
Jensen just stares at him. Honestly. If only people would say what they mean.  
  
Jensen promptly ignores the voice in his head that snickers at the irony.  
  
“Yeah. I have no clue what that means.”  
  
Katie, who passes by carrying a keg of beer, butts in. “It’s kind of simple, really. They have two settings. Aspiring porn stars. And squishy teddy bears.”  
  
Jared smiles proudly. “You’re just jealous, baby.”  
  
Katie snorts. “I think it’s more alarming that nine times out of ten, I can’t tell which is which.”  
  
Great. They’re mocking him.  
  
He scowls at Katie.  
  
“No. Seriously. How does that work?”  
  
Katie chimes in. “Well. Tab A goes into slot B –”  
  
 “Occasionally there’s tab C,” Jared adds helpfully.  
  
Jensen cocks his head to the side. Considers the level of pain he could inflict with an olive stick.  
  
Then tries again. Because he’s a masochist.  
  
“So you’re not –?”  
  
Jared smiles indulgently at him. “Well, Detective. He fucks me into the mattress, cuddles after, then makes me bacon and pancakes in the morning. Are you telling me there’s more to life than this?”  
  
“Seriously.”  
  
Jared nods, expression serious, like he’s letting Jensen in on a secret. “Pancakes, Jensen.  _Pancakes._ ”  
  
Helpful. That’s what Jared is.  
  


 

~

  
  
  
  
It’s a strange thing.  
  
Jensen could have sworn he didn’t care about who Jared’s fucking. Dating. Seeing. Whatever the hell it is. He could have sworn that there wouldn’t be that feeling – Jensen would rather walk on hot coals than call it jealousy – simmering, just under the surface, waiting for him to pay attention to it.  
  
It’s stupid, really.  
  
Jensen doesn’t know him.  
  
Jared is – Jensen doesn’t know what Jared is. Not to him. Except for the guy who understands Jensen like there’s a lifetime between them – like he knows what Jensen needs, inherently.  
  
He knows, for instance, when Jensen explains how his mother died in line of duty when Jensen was a kid, and stumbling into a speech about how becoming a cop is what she would have wanted for him, it was an honor and a privilege, and it’s been a long time, and he’s fine,  _really …_ Jared puts a hand on Jensen’s shoulder, not condescending, not pitying, just  _there,_ warm, comforting, and says, soft, barely audible,  
  
_She would have been so proud of the man you grew up to be._  
  
Jensen shrugs it off. That’s who he is. He doesn’t need platitudes, not words with empty meaning.  
  
But he looks up, meets Jared’s eyes – and there’s just honesty. Just honesty in swirls of color that catch a glint – truth, like they promised.  
  
_Always._  
  
And Jensen’s trusted him with it since.  
  
Jared’s this contradiction of frustratingly unpredictable and remarkably dependable. His actions, his words, his gesture are so careful, but there’s always a side of Jared that seems carefree. Like Jared woke up one morning, and decided a big fuck you to everything was in order – rules, normalcy, fitting in – nothing seems to apply to him. And the truly beautiful thing is, Jared doesn’t care about it.  
  
It’s an opposite of who Jensen is.  
  
Or, at least, to who Jensen perceives himself to be.  
  
Jensen wonders why he cares so much. Why it isn’t simple, like he made all the other things in his life be.  
  
Jensen leaves early, leaves the glass of scotch unfinished.  
  


 

~

  
  
  
Jared texts over the next few days when Jensen doesn’t show up at the bar. He asks how he’s doing.  
  
If everything’s okay.  
  
Truth is, Jensen doesn’t really know. So he doesn’t answer. Lets the days pass.  
  
He’s assigned a rookie as partner until Chris recovers. It helps him take his mind off things – breaking the kid in, teaching him – he spends more hours at the range, he pores over case files in a way he usually doesn’t have the patience for – he doesn’t let himself think about Jared. Not really.  
  
He goes home to Danneel.  
  
She works long hours most days, stays at the office until late in the evening. It’s another reason why it works between them. He’s been searching for reasons lately. They don’t need each other’s presence – don’t crave it – they enjoy it when they can, but it’s all there is to it. Jensen’s gone months undercover without a word to her – without thinking about her, without missing her – at least, not in the way he should be, not in a way that mattered.  
  
And when she’s home – she’s too exhausted to do anything but press a kiss to Jensen’s cheek and fall asleep. Jensen shouldn’t feel grateful for it. It feels like the easy way out. Like she knows, like she’s just waiting for him to leave. They haven’t had sex in months. The part that was always there – the part that worked, that was good, regardless of the circumstances – it’s missing.  
  
It should feel like a big deal.  
  
It doesn’t.  
  
It’s just another thing that didn’t work. A constant in Jensen’s life. Something that  _he_ couldn’t make work – something he failed at. It’s him. It’s always been him. Chris is right.  
  
It –  _he_ – is too much work. He can’t put that on someone else. Can’t expect them to shoulder a weight that even Jensen doesn’t understand at best of times. He wonders why he’s so good at his job – and always manages to make his personal life a mess.  
  
The confidence, the self-assurance he has on the job should transition – it’s who he is, it’s not a front, he’s not faking it – and he can’t figure out why there’s only doubts, only insecurities to deal with when it comes to being with someone.  
  
He doesn’t feel vulnerable when he’s with Danneel. She doesn’t know him. Not entirely. So she can’t reach, can’t hurt him. She sees a part of him that’s easy to be with. She doesn’t dig deeper.  
  
That was fine. Until Jared.  
  
Until Jared wormed his way under Jensen’s skin surreptitiously.  
  
He was just a stranger. He was just a man without a story when Jensen needed him to be.  
  
And then he was a little more. He was the guy Jensen looked forward to seeing almost every day. His easy smile that hid a million secrets.  
  
And not even then – it didn’t register. How he’d look at Jared a second too long, how he’d want to ask all the questions that mattered, how, inadvertently, he’d already shared with Jared more than he’d ever told anyone until him. And Jared didn’t run. Didn’t do the big speeches that everyone else seemed to think would help him. Didn’t say much of anything, except listen, make a joke out of everything he could, until Jensen would return his grin.  
  
And Jensen did. Every time, he did. That was Jared for him. The man that made him happy – that made him feel. Jared made him feel like he was enough – all the little parts of Jensen that he’d like to forget, to pretend they don’t exist – Jared made him feel like they mattered, but they weren’t what defined him – the most important thing.  
  
Jared saw Jensen like the man Jensen wanted to be.


	4. Chapter 4

                                              

  
“How many?”   
  
Chad fiddles with the napkin, avoids Jared’s gaze.   
  
“Chad.” Jared grips Chad’s jaw, turns his head. Jared needs to see his eyes. Needs to see for himself. “How many?”   
  
Chad jerks away. “Ten. Alright? Ten days.” He throws the napkin to the side. “Jesus Christ, Jared. That all you care about these days?”   
  
The answer would be yes. Because that’s what it takes – that’s the only way – because it’s getting harder to care when Chad’s not sober. When he’s not sober, it’s easier to go through the routine – just take care of Chad’s messes. It gets clinical. It gets repetitive.   
  
Jared doesn’t say anything. He leans back in the chair. Chad tracks his movements. Jared can see Chad’s leg bouncing under the table, shaky hands reaching for the glass of water – he’s telling the truth.   
  
Jared marches on to the next step. “Meetings?”   
  
Chad laughs, short and derisive. Throws something across the table – Jared catches it by reflex. A chip, silver, number 1 engraved in a circle in the middle.   
  
“Four days old. Satisfied?”   
  
Jared balls it in his fist. “Next time you throw one of these at me, it better be a bronze one.”   
  
Chad, despite himself, smiles. Small, shaky curve of his lips.   
  
Jared gets up, throws some bills on the table. “Now come on, I promised you dinner – well, lunch –  _and_  a movie. I’m a man of my word, Murray.”   
  
Chad looks up at him. Opens his mouth – he wants to say something. Jared has a pretty good idea of what it’ll be.   
  
_You promised him, too. You said you’d never leave._   
  
But Chad stays silent. Gets up, and follows him.   
Pats Jared on the back – grins at him. “You do know I don’t put out on the first date, though?”   
  
“Yes, Chad, I know that. Thank God for small mercies.”   
  
  


~

  
  
  
Jared gets home just in time to get ready for his shift. Jason’s out with friends – has been a lot, recently.   
  
Jared guesses it’s compensation for the time Jared’s spending with Jensen – Jason’s always pulled back whenever Jared found someone – something serious. Just like Jared did when Jason needed it. And Jared would argue, would tell him he’s wrong, that the thing with Jensen is nothing – but Jason would look at him, like Jared’s stupid – expression frustratingly fond and loving – and make Jared feel like a small child.   
  
And Jason would be right.   
  
Jared loves to pretend, loves to lose himself in the comfortable familiarity of Jason. Jensen brings terrifying change with him.   
  
But that doesn’t alter what Jared feels.   
  
It wasn’t a distinct moment, it wasn’t a realization that was earth-shattering. Jared still isn’t sold on the happily ever after thing.   
  
But it hits him, slipping in bed close to Jason, night after night, close to a man that had given Jared everything.   
  
After meeting Jensen, after carving out a place in Jensen’s life that’s just for him – he’s started to think. Wonder if there’s something more, if that’s what he’s supposed to be feeling – Jensen’s slow, easy smile over a bottle of beer that makes Jared’s breath hitch – Jensen’s presence, how Jared always seems aware of it, how hard Jared has to work in order to keep his voice steady whenever Jensen touches him inadvertently.   
  
It’s inconsequential, the easy conversations, the joking, the laughing – nothing more, because Jared’s content to let it be, because Jensen, regardless of the appraising looks he’s throwing Jared that are subtle enough that Jared wonders if he’s imagining all of it, is happy with Danneel, and Jared may be a lot of things, but he’s not the bastard that fucks it all up for something that’s entirely selfish in its reasons.   
  
Jensen’s stopped coming to the bar.   
  
It’s good. Nothing to regret about what might have been.   
  
Lying to himself always has been easy for Jared.   
  
  


~

  
  
  
Jared takes a shower, starts to get dressed – but gets derailed after putting on pants and the glasses he wears at home when contacts are just too much hassle to deal with when his phone chirps. There isn’t any message from Jensen –  Jared didn’t really expect one, after two weeks of complete silence.  
  
He has a voicemail from Nate, though – and no matter how much he’d like to ignore it, he listens to it. It’s surprisingly happy. Just stories of Sara – the one-year old who charms the pants off everyone she meets, a funny incident with pudding – and then it ends with Nate saying he misses Jared. Asking him to call, pleading for it.  
  
Jared’s heard it so many times – never understood it. Never made sense to him – why Nate didn’t just give up on him. Jared deserved it.  
  
He’d left Nate.  
  
Jared had dropped out of college, had drunk, fucked and fought his way to a semblance of earning a living – he’d left all the good behind him, started a life that was as exciting as it was sad and lonely. He’d never said a word, never looked back. He wasn’t good enough to count for something – and his choices did nothing but prove it. To Nate, to his parents – to everyone that judged him, to everyone that looked at him and said he was just a burden to his family.  
  
They were right. He’s a coward, running from all it, counting on no one noticing him disappear.  
Except Nate.  
Nate, who still remembers all the nights they played with action figures under the covers. Nate, who lived with the panic – the ambulances, the hospitals, the long wait, the fear – would remember how Jared would always fall asleep in the hospital chair and wake up with his head fallen forward, cheeks squished on Nate’s bed railing. Who can recall the titles of all the books Jared read him when Nate was too sick to leave the house for weeks. Who remembers the time Jared snuck both of them out past curfew, took them to a concert, and got a backstage pass for him.  
  
Nate, who doesn’t know that Jared blew the guy for backstage access. Who doesn’t know the terrifying seconds, minutes, hours, Jared spent watching Nate’s frail body, wondering if both of them were going to make it through the next day.  
  
Nate’s still calling. And Jared wants to hate him for it – wants him to give up. Jared doesn’t deserve it. But he still wants to hear Nate’s voice, know he’s okay – that he’s happy. Even though every message hurts, brings up all the memories. It’s a part of him that he wants to leave behind as much as he wants to run toward it.  
  
Jared’s still staring blankly at the screen when he hears someone at the door, knocking.  
  
  
                                               

  
  
  
Jensen doesn’t know what he’s doing.   
  
Can’t figure out, for the life of him, what he’s doing in front of Jared’s door. Not when he’s looking like he went ten rounds with a heavyweight champion – cuts all over his face, split lip, bruised ribs that hurt like a motherfucker when he moves an inch. But he is.   
  
Jensen knocks lightly.   
  
Waits long seconds until the door opens. But when it does Jensen forgets everything he wanted to say. Jared’s dressed in a pair of ratty old jeans that hang low on his hips. That’s it. Just the jeans. Jensen swallows drily. There’s miles of tanned skin stretching before him – and fuck him, he never thought about how far those tattoos went. Jared’s chest is an array of color, designs melting into each other seamlessly, black swirling, – it’s a work of art, honestly. And Jensen’s never seen the appeal before – didn’t understand why someone would mark themselves like this – would subject themself to the pain. But now – now he gets it. Not the meaning, necessarily – that’s for Jared to tell and for him to listen – but the reason. He sees how beautiful Jared is. How he never tells his story, because it’s etched into his skin – painfully detailed, how Jensen could never understand him before this.   
  
Jensen’s breath catches in his chest when he meets Jared’s eyes – liquid gold and green – and – holy hell, he’s wearing glasses. Jensen thinks he doesn’t even look like Jared – not the Jared he’s met at the bar, not the Jared he’s gone out with a few times times since. He looks – softer. Unguarded. He looks like a moment, suspended – that improbable, perfect moment that exists outside of time, outside of reason. Smiling. A standstill. Fluid, lost in a single meaning – a feeling, turning him inside out, exposed, for all the world to see.   
  
Jared’s just staring at him. Mouth open – and Jensen imagines those pink lips around his – yeah, Jensen should really stop. Preferably, before the puddle of drool at his feet swallows him entirely.   
  
Jensen recovers, manages brilliantly, “Hi. Mind if I come in?”   
  
He  _really_ didn’t think this through.   
  
It does seem to break Jared out of his reverie – he scrambles backwards to let Jensen in, and it’d be funny how uncoordinated he suddenly seems, if Jensen didn’t feel just as uncertain, just as shaky.   
  
Jensen steps inside, and Jared leads him to the living room – where he motions to the couch, telling Jensen to sit,  _make himself comfortable,_ and fuck if it isn’t the most awkward thing Jensen ever experienced. It’s probably because neither of them knows what this is – why now, why like this.   
  
Jared slips out of the room while Jensen gets acquainted with the surroundings – a TV, two armchairs, a coffee table with some children’s books and magazines on it – a guitar in the corner, and not much else. It’s simple – and it suits Jared. Except the children’s books. That Jensen has no idea what to make of. But he waits patiently, and a few minutes later, Jared strides in, a v-neck navy t-shirt as an addition to his previous outfit.   
  
He has an ice pack in his hand, which he hands Jensen, and Jensen takes it, mumbles a  _thank you_ , and they go back to sitting awkwardly.   
  
Jared sits in the armchair across from him – and blessedly breaks the silence when it seems like neither of them would speak until the next century if not prompted.   
  
“Okay. I guess the obvious question is, how do you know where I live.”   
  
Jared’s smiling, but it’s precarious., it’s more for Jensen’s benefit. Jensen just smirks, lifts the ice pack to his cheek.   
  
Jared huffs out a laugh when he gets it. “That’s a fine use of police resources, Detective.”   
  
Jensen smiles innocently. Jared shakes his head. His grin slides into a small smile, warm, soft, just for him.   
  
“Are you okay?”   
  
It spreads an unfamiliar warmth through his chest – Jared worrying about him. He nods. “Yeah. Just cuts and bruises. I’ll be good as new in a couple of days.”   
  
Jared eyes him dubiously. “Right. I’m sure you will.” He arches an eyebrow. “What happened?”   
  
Jensen shrugs – and fuck if that doesn’t hurt like a bitch.   
  
“Rookie.”   
  
Jared’s eyes widen slightly. “He do this?”   
  
“No. He froze on me. Let the guy escape. I followed him.”   
  
“That seems to have worked out well for you.”   
  
“Guy was big. Built like a linebacker. Managed to get a few good punches in, but –“ Jensen shakes his head. “Fuck. Was halfway to dreamland, thought that was it – the end, roll the credits – when the rookie came back, shot him.”   
  
Jared’s features are carefully neutral. But his eyes – his eyes betray him. He seems afraid. Scared. Pained by what Jensen’s telling him. But then he smiles. Slow, unsure, predictable.   
  
“So, just another day at the office, then.”   
  
Jensen laughs shakily. “Yeah.” He meets Jared’s gaze, holds it. “Something like it.”   
  
Jared’s breath hitches slightly – Jensen can see the moment he gets it.   
  
“Can I get you a beer or something, Detective?”   
  
“You’re always offering me booze. Think I can’t hack it sober?”   
  
“I’m a bartender. It’s part of the job description.”   
  
“True enough. But no, thanks, I don’t want anything.”   
  
Jared nods. “I gather this riveting conversation isn’t why you’re here.”   
  
Jensen sighs. Puts the ice pack down on the table. Stands up, goes for the guitar in the corner. He throws Jared a questioning look, a silent  _may I,_ and when Jared nods, he takes it, returns to the couch – it’s easier like this. When his hands are busy.   
  
Jared smiles at him. “You always play with the napkin. Or the label on the bottle.”   
  
Jensen studies Jared for a moment. He hadn’t realized he was doing it. “I suppose I do,” he says finally. He strums a chord. “Yours?”   
  
“Jason’s.”   
  
“He in a band?”   
  
Jared shakes his head. “Only plays for the kids.”   
  
Jensen’s eyes snap back to him. “Kids?”   
  
“He’s a kindergarten teacher.”   
  
Jensen scoffs. “Mr. Perfect.”   
  
Jared takes a few seconds before he answers. “He’s a good man.”   
  
“You love him?”   
  
Jared looks at him, follows Jensen’s fingers as they sound out the beginning of a tune.   
  
“What’s this about, Jensen?”   
  
_Jensen._ It sounds good rolling off Jared’s tongue.   
  
“I just think it’s weird. You never mentioned him.”   
  
Jared leans back in the armchair. “What we have – it’s complicated. Hard to explain. Not sure everyone would understand it. So I don’t.” He casts a look at the guitar in Jensen’s hands. “You going to play something?”   
  
“Maybe.”   
  
“Why are you here, Jensen?”   
  
Jensen looks up. Smiles. “I don’t know, Jared. I have no fucking idea.”   
  
Surprise coats Jared’s features. Jensen takes advantage of the silence.   
  
“Explain ‘complicated’ to me. We have time. I’m all ears.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
Jensen shakes his head. “Humor me.”   
  
Jared looks unsure, but he complies. “Well, there isn’t much to tell. We’re roommates. We fuck. That is, if neither of us is in a serious relationship. Rest of the time, we’re friends.”   
  
“And that works?”   
  
Jared gives a small chuckle. “Surprisingly, yeah.  You know how in romantic movies there’s a pair that should fit perfectly, but it’s obvious from the start they’re not going to make it? That’s me and Jason. And we knew it from the beginning.”   
  
Jensen understands it. It’s a familiar feeling.   
  
“That satisfy your curiosity?”   
  
“Mostly.”   
  
“Why the sudden questions?”   
  
“Hidden agendas, ulterior motives,” Jensen says, smiling playfully.   
  
He watches Jared – watches how his eyes twinkle. It reminds him of their first meeting.   
  
“You wear glasses.”   
  
Jared lets out a surprised laugh. “Observant as always.”   
  
“I didn’t know that.” He’s stopped strumming, taps an uneven rhythm on the side of the guitar with his fingers.   
  
Jared smiles ruefully. “You don’t know a lot of things about me.”   
  
Jensen nods. It’s true. “So tell me.”   
  
Jared arches an eyebrow. “That easily?”   
  
“Why not?”   
  
Jared thinks about it for a moment – then breaks out into a wide smile. “Only if you play something for me.”   
  
“Any special requests?”   
  
Jared’s eyes are full of mischief. “I’ll let you guess.”   
  
Of course.   
  
Jensen nods, puts the guitar aside, leans it against the side of the couch. “Deal. You first.” Then he pats the space besides him on the couch.   
  
Jared snorts. “Words, Jensen. Use your words.”   
  
Jensen smiles cheekily. “I don’t have any around you?”   
  
“Seems like you have plenty. “ It’s meant to sound exasperated – but it doesn’t quite get there, there’s no heat – and Jared comes over, sits just a few inches away from Jensen. He props his right hand on the back of the couch, folds his leg under him, meets Jensen’s gaze, lets his dimples show when he tilts his lips into a broad grin.   
  
Jensen’s kind of mesmerized by the picture.   
  
“What do you want to know, Jensen?”   
  
He thinks about it for a moment. Knows the instant his eyes slide over Jared’s forearms.   
  
“The tattoos.”   
  
“Which ones?”   
  
Jensen’s at a loss. “All of them?”   
  
“That could take a while,” Jared says around a snort.   
  
“The ones that mean the most to you.”   
  
Jared flexes his left hand instinctively. Jensen sees ribbons around his wrist. Numbers. Dates. Jensen reaches to trace the design. He presses lightly with his thumb – follows the pattern upwards – and sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Jared react to his touch – the slightest shiver that sends jolts of electricity through Jensen.   
  
“It’s – it’s a longer story.” Jensen keeps his fingers on Jared’s skin, feathery-light touch that shouldn’t make his heart beat as fast as it is. Jared voice cracks slightly. “My brother. My brother was sick. Heart defect. Born with it.” Jensen looks up, smiles encouragingly. Shifts closer. His fingers have moved from the thin ribbons. His fingers rest somewhere on Jared’s elbow, a tight grip that Jensen wants to be reassuring. By the way Jared’s looking at him, warm, trusting – it’s working. “First one is his birth date. Second, the day he got a new heart. The day he got a new beginning.”   
  
Jensen nods, brings his other hand to Jared’s collarbone, a little patch of skin that peeks out from underneath the t-shirt, tracing an intricate pattern that continues under the material. Jared catches on quick, startles Jensen when he laughs. “That’s a tramp stamp.”   
  
Jensen’s eyes snap to his, watches Jared incredulously. “Seriously?”   
  
Jared nods, hands slip from underneath Jensen’s grip to lift up his t-shirt. There’s another one on his hip, just above the waistband of his boxers, some kind of Chinese letters. Jensen touches – just does, doesn’t even think about the gesture until Jared stills under his hands – and Jensen thinks it should be weird, because this is new, they’ve never been like this, there never was the possibility of it. Except now there is. And Jensen’s enjoying the new perspective.   
  
Jared regains his composure quickly. “That’s the worst one. I think it’s lyrics from a Meatloaf song. I blame it on Chad.” Jensen knows of Chad – Jared’s mentioned him a few times. From what Jared’s said about the man, blaming Chad for a weird tattoo makes sense. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Jared continues, “Most of it means a lot to me. It’s who I am, in bits and pieces. But … there’s also things that I did for the wrong reasons. Or when I was drunk, or high, or just plain pissed.”   
  
“Which one is this?”   
  
Jared shrugs. “All three?” Jensen pulls back his hands – misses the contact immediately, but Jared’s there, like he always is – fingers on his right hand reaching for the base of his neck, and Jensen leans in without thinking. “There was a time when I would have done everything to stand out. To get noticed, to be different.”   
  
Jensen can’t reconcile the idea with the Jared he knows now, so he replies, “Why?”   
  
“Because Nate was sick.”   
  
Jensen doesn’t get it. “Nate?”   
  
Jared nods. “My little brother.”   
  
His brows are knitting in concentration – like he’s figuring out a way to say something in way that Jensen can understand it. “He – well, my parents – Nate’s heart – we always lived with the fear that it could give out at any moment. It was day to day, especially the last couple of years. He was so sensitive – he’d catch a cold from not drying his hair properly. Stuff like that. So there was always bubble wrap around him, so to speak. People paying attention to him. Including me. But for my parents … for other people – I kind of faded into the background. Nobody really cared what I did, as long as I was there for him.”   
  
Jensen watches the expressions shift across Jared’s features – guilt, regret, pain, sadness. “That’s –“   
  
“Selfish? Childish?” Jared interrupts him.   
  
“I was going to say understandable.”   
  
Jared’s eyes snap up to him, and he looks surprised – like no one had ever told him that  _it was okay to feel like this._ Jared looks away.   
  
“It wasn’t ever about Nate.” He gives a watery laugh. “God, I loved my brother so much. It was my job to take care of him – but I loved it.”   
  
“You were just a kid, too.”   
  
Jared turns back to look at him. Shrugs. “Well, yeah. It wasn’t all roses. It had its moments. Parents were working two jobs, trying to make ends meet, pay all the hospital bills, so I was the only one left to do it. But I had a little brother, you know? And he looked at me –“ Jared smiles self-deprecatingly. “He looked at me like I was a superhero or something. I mean – how – who wouldn’t want that? Who wouldn’t feel good about it?”   
  
God, Jensen’s so stupid. He never realized it. Never before saw that smile for what it is.   
  
“What happened?”   
  
Jared looks confused. “Nothing.”   
  
Jensen just looks at him. They know each other well enough – and Jared gets it immediately. He draws his hand back – Jensen had forgotten it was even there – his fingers, so good on his skin, so soothing – and shrugs noncommittally.   
  
“Nothing happened, Jensen. He got better.”   
  
Then, so quiet Jensen almost doesn’t hear him, “He didn’t need me anymore.”   
  
Jensen stares at him for a moment. Then just pulls him in – not quite a hug, not quite  _anything._ But Jensen had to touch – had to let him know, “Jesus Christ, Jared. You’re so stupid.”   
  
Which, okay. Could have been put better. But Jared just laughs against his shoulder – it comes out more of a sob, and Jensen grips tighter. They stay like that for a few moments.   
  
“Detective?” Jared’s muffled voice. “We done with the touchy-feely?”   
  
Jensen lets him slip out of his grip, but grabs his wrist. It hurts – Jared’s reverted to a default grin that reaches his eyes only partially – that’s genuine, but calculated.   
  
“Jared –“   
  
“No. Don’t say anything. It’s – you wanted to know. I told you. I’ll always tell you when you ask me. But it doesn’t have to mean something.”   
  
Jensen laughs, hollow and bitter. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”   
  
Jared presses on. “Jensen. It was a long day for you. This … I don’t know, maybe you needed –“   
  
Jensen doesn’t let him finish. “Sure. It was a fucked-up day. Still haven’t got my head on straight. I’ll admit it. “ He shifts himself closer, until he’s only inches away from Jared’s face, breath ghosting over his lips. “You always know. You always know what I need. So why now? Why don’t you know this?”   
  
Hazel eyes are locked with his – Jared’s scared, Jared’s terrified of this – of how bad he wants it. Jensen would say something. But he’s never been all that good with words – so he kisses Jared instead.   
  
He loops an arm around Jared’s waist, other hand in his hair – pulls Jared closer, until their bodies are pressed together, until he feels all that hard muscle shifting against him. And  _Jared –_ Jared’s kissing him back. Rough swipes of his tongue, biting his lip – Jensen had expected some hesitancy – but there’s none. Just this – not fireworks, not butterflies – just a moment, a first he’ll always carry with him.   
  
Jared breaks the kiss – pulls back, a little breathlessly. His hands stay on the small of Jensen’s back – but Jensen can tell – he’s just now realizing, catching up with it.   
  
“Jensen –”   
  
And fuck it that voice – breathless, a little scratchy – doesn’t do things to Jensen.   
  
“Jensen, we – this isn’t good.”   
  
Jensen smiles at him sheepishly. “I thought it was plenty good.”   
  
Jared punches him in the shoulder. Lightly, but it lands on one of his bruises and he flinches.   
  
Jared’s eyes widen. “Shit. Fuck. Sorry.” He scrambles to get out of Jensen’s grip. Gets up. Stands in front of the couch – in front of Jensen awkwardly.   
  
“We can’t do this.”   
  
Jensen sighs. “Jason?”   
  
“Among other things.”   
  
“But you said –“   
  
“Jensen, we can’t hurt people just because you had some kind of epiphany.”   
  
Jensen frowns. “That’s not what this is.” He grabs Jared’s wrist, pulls Jared towards him. They’re close, Jared standing in the V of Jensen’s spread legs, looking down at him, and Jensen struggles to breathe right under the heat in hazel eyes.   
  
Jensen’s hands – they’re on Jared, they’re touching, tracing, Jensen can’t get enough, just uses Jared’s body as canvas to draw invisible lines, and he can see – Jared feels every touch, every burning path Jensen leaves with deft fingers on the small of his back – a little clumsy, a little stuttered, asking if he’s allowed, if Jared’s going to pull back.   
  
But Jared arches into the touch, keeps his eyes locked with Jensen’s, mouth open in a gasp, cheeks slightly flushed. Jensen’s trying to learn, trying to memorize all the paths, all the ways that make Jared fall apart in his arms – now he knows, now he wants – and Jared’s giving in to him, so trusting, so freely. Jensen feels the slight shudders wrecking Jared’s body – he could let it go on, could make it into another first – but he doesn’t want it like this.   
  
Not when Jared’s unsure. When he doesn’t understand what Jensen’s saying.   
  
And, regardless of what arrangement Jared has with Jason – there’s a conversation Jensen has to have before this goes any further. Danneel deserves it.   
  
Jensen stops – halts all movement – and Jared’s eyes flutter open, dark, dazed – Jensen tugs him down until Jared falls to his knees in front of him, until they’re at eye level. He smiles brightly – it hasn’t ever felt like this – presses a palm to Jared’s chest, feels his heartbeat drumming under his fingers.   
  
Jensen rests his head on Jared’s shoulder, tries to catch his breath properly. “I – you’re doing things to me. “   
  
Jared nods. “Magic,” he replies shakily.   
  
Jensen would be inclined to agree. No one has ever had him so out of control.   
  
Jensen raises his head – and he’s happy to see Jared’s eyes have lost some of the shadows, some of the doubt – but it’s not enough. Jensen wants it all – and Jared can’t give it.   
  
Not until Jared figures out some things.   
  
Jensen cups Jared’s jaw with his hands, presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Think about this.”   
  
He disentangles himself from Jared’s grip effortlessly – Jared’s just watching him, slightly dazed. Jensen gets up, makes his way towards the door – and he’s about to reach for the handle when he feels strong hands come around him, one around his waist, the other grasping his collarbone.   
  
They don’t do anything but hold tight for a moment – a mirror image of Jensen’s gesture, slightest hint of awkwardness to it. Jensen can feel Jared’s body behind him – huge, hard, every point of contact searing, making him want to beg for more, making him want to turn around and forget all about good choices.   
  
Jensen expects some kind of goodbye, some kind of acknowledgment, but all Jared says when he pulls back is –   
  
“You owe me a song, Detective.”   
  
Jensen breaks into a grin.   
  
Yeah, he thinks as he leaves.  _This is going to be a good thing._


	5. Chapter 5

                                        

  
It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a routine.  
  
The same one – still the same uneventful nights, Jensen keeping Jared company on his shifts – but. So different. He catches Jensen looking at him – green eyes burning a searing path over his skin. He feels Jensen’s touch – never too long, but leaving behind a tingle with just a brush of his fingers.  
  
Truth be told, he has no fucking idea what clicked. What changed, what made Jensen do what he did.  
  
But – Jared doesn’t really give a fuck about it. He’s enjoying it.  
  
He’s not really sure of what he’s doing, what Jensen’s really asking of him – it’s too sudden. But day by day, he’s figuring it out. He’s letting Jensen get to know him – and that’s another thing. Jensen asks, now. He doesn’t let Jared brush him off with a joke and an offer for a drink.  
  
Jensen waits, he prods, he makes deals – Jared still didn’t get his song, one week into it – but he listens. And funny thing is, he still looks at Jared the same. Accepts all of who Jared is. There’s no more kisses, no more touches. It’s better, in a way. It gives Jared a chance to sort through all of it, to figure out what Jensen’s saying, what he wants, if he’s ready for it – but it doesn’t change the way his breath catches whenever he sees Jensen looking at him – waiting, smiling, like the world could be ending and Jared would be the only thing that he sees.  
Jared’s never felt anything like it.  
  
  


~

  
  
  
Jared faceplants into the bed with an ungraceful thud.  
  
Fuck, it’d been a long night.  
  
Jason – the fucking bastard – laughs. He’s all dressed up, clean-shaven and decidedly too awake for Jared’s brain to process the words that come out of his mouth at an alarming speed. There’s a soft touch on his cheek, and Jason’s speaking, whispering – Jared’s absolutely convinced there’s a very good point to all of it, but he can’t really concentrate, not when Jason’s low rumble is so nice, strings such a nice cadence that lulls him to sleep.  
  
“Jared.”  
  
“L’ve me ‘lone.”  
  
“Jay.”  
  
Jared bats his hand away. “Shoo. G’be pr’ductive.”  
  
Jason chuckles, cups the cheek that’s not currently flattened into the pillow with his palm, thumb coming to trace the length of his cheekbone, under his eyes – and seriously – unless the world is going to explode in the next five minutes, Jared would really like to go the fuck to sleep.  
  
“Baby. Look at me.”  
  
Jared scowls, but peeks one eye open, half-lidded. Jason’s face is mere inches away – his eyes, a deep brown, looking so fondly at him – Jared, despite himself, sighs. Jason’s pretty.  
  
There’s a grin. “’Course I am, baby. Prettiest of them all, remember? Now tell me – did you get your contacts out?”  
  
Jared nods, still mesmerized by Jason’s features, normally harsh – so fucking soft in the first rays of sunlight in the morning, smiling down at him – and it hurts, it makes his chest tighten, because he knows – Jared knows, he’s never looked back that way at Jason.  
  
And Jason’s still doing this – even after Jared’s practically told him he’s moving on to something better, to Jensen – not in so many words, but calibrated in happiness that’s inherently selfish. A happiness without him.  
  
“Good. The strung-out junkie look really doesn’t do it for me.”  
  
Jared decides flipping him the bird is not really worth the effort right now.  
  
Jason leans in, presses a light kiss to his forehead. “There’s coffee in the pot, leftover pizza in the freezer. Phone’s switched to vibrate on your nightstand.”  
  
Jared nods, meekly – struggles to keep his eyes open – smiles a little. If it didn’t require so much energy, and if he wasn’t helplessly in love with Jensen, he’d kiss Jason silly.  
  
As it is, the last thing he hears before he drifts off are Jason’s footsteps fading out.  
  
  


~

  
  
  
There’s an annoying buzzing sound.  
  
Repetitive.  
  
Fucking rhythmic bees.  
  
And  _that_ particular thought – because, really, there’s a few brain cells left still – makes him groan, slither the hand from under his pillow and palm around for what are, decidedly, not tiny bumblebees in a recital. He knocks over something that Jared’s sleepy enough to pretend it’s not made of glass, but tightens his fingers around his phone, brings it to his ear as he answers without really paying attention to who it is.  
  
Screw the world. He’s sleeping in. So it’s a decidedly snappish “ _What?”_ that he welcomes the person at the end of the phone with.  
  
There isn’t sound. Not at first. Just breathing, shaky, a conscious, deliberate tempo – and then something Jared never wants to hear again.  
  
 _“Jared. It’s – it’s me.”_  
  
Jensen. Jensen, sounding so fucking broken it makes it hard to breathe. Jared’s awake instantly.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
Because something is. He’s sure of it.  
  
There’s a lot of things going through Jared’s mind. Panic. Whatever makes Jensen sound like this. There’s relief. It’s Jensen calling. Jensen’s okay. Physically, at least. Fear. Fear he can’t fix it – whatever it is.  
  
 _“It’s – Jay. It’s Danni – the courthouse – there was a situation and she –“_ He hears Jensen inhale sharply, like he’s trying to get out words, but he can’t, can’t align them in a coherent thought without falling apart.  
  
Jensen’s still muttering something. Jared cuts him off. “Tell me where you are.”  
  
There’s a pause.  
  
 _“What?”_  
  
“I’m coming. Tell me where you are.” The words have an edge, they’re unintentionally sharp – it’s what Jared does. His own pathetic attempt at not breaking down.  
  
 _“Jared. I don’t know if it’s a good idea – I mean –”_  
  
“ _Jensen.”_ Jared’s has no patience – it’s not the fucking time. It doesn’t matter, what they are, what they’re not. Jared’s just about crawling out of his skin with the need to touch Jensen, to make sure he’s alright, to comfort him, to make it better, to do  _something._ “Look. I’m not trying to make it difficult. But whatever it is, I’m not letting you go through it alone. So I’m coming. Or, if you don’t want me there, I’m calling Chris. Just  _–_ “ Jared scrubs a hand over his eyes. Tries to keep his voice strong. “Let me – someone – be there for you.  _Please.”_ So much for that. It cracks on the last word, broken sound, a plea, and Jared hopes like hell Jensen can’t figure out how close he is to actually begging.  
  
There’s a long silence, and with every second that passes, Jared tightens his white-knuckled grip on the phone in his hand. Honestly, he’s surprised it hasn’t shattered to pieces yet.  
  
And there’s a faint whisper,  _“Okay.”_ Then stronger, “Okay. I’m at Lutheran General Hospital _.”_  
  
  


~

  
  
  
  
Jared gets there in record time.  
  
He’s in a pair of jeans that are probably Jason’s by the way he swims in them, a hoodie that he pulls over his head, combat boots and glasses – he probably looks like a crazy person gone off his meds with the way he’s mowing people down in his haste to get to Jensen.  
  
He finds him – or so he thinks, because the Jensen in front of him is a shadow, a wreck – crouched in on himself in an uncomfortable chair, head buried in his hands, still clutching the phone in his palm – Jared saying his name doesn’t even register. Jared knows, knows from too many days and nights spent like this – knows the struggle to find a way to fucking breathe right when your life is turned upside down.  
  
Jared’s heart is in his throat right now – it hurts him _,_ seeing Jensen like this. But it’s not his place. Not the time to be selfish. He wastes a second, inhales deep. Finds himself again.  
  
Wills himself to be strong.  
  
By the time he’s touching Jensen’s shoulder his features have been schooled into an impassive mask. Or at least, something close to it.  
  
Jensen needs that.  
  
Thing is, Jensen doesn’t need anything. Anyone. Never. He’s a stubborn, tough, strong-willed little shit that never lets anyone get too close to him. He doesn’t do it consciously, doesn’t do the stupid  _“It’s not you, it’s me”_  speech – but there’s always a part of him, a fragment that’s missed, that gets lost on people who don’t know  _how_ to care for him. How to love him. Jensen doesn’t offer that, because they don’t ask. They don’t stick around long enough to find out.  
  
So fucking stupid.  
  
Jared isn’t arrogant enough to think he’s the special little snowflake that gets all of it, that’s deserving enough to be something to him – but  _this_ –  _this_ he can do, he can be.  
  
Because it’s so fucking hard for Jensen to need anything.  
  
Jensen’s head jerks up, wide, red-rimmed eyes looking up at him.  
  
Jared can’t think of anything to say. Not anything that Jensen won’t see through right away. So all he does is pull Jensen into a hug, and doesn’t let go for a long time.  
  
  
  


~

  
  
  
“She – fuck. She was done early for the day. Called me, told her I’d pick her up, go to a nice restaurant, it was early enough for lunch.” Jensen’s looking straight ahead while he talks. His voice is cold, detached. “We were in front of the courthouse. Stopped to argue about Chinese or Italian.” He laughs. It’s an ugly, ugly sound. He twists around to face Jared, eyes wide and wild. “I didn’t even see it. Didn’t even know there was something wrong till she fell in my arms. There’s always something, people acting suspicious, small things – but there was nothing. ” He fixes Jared, stares, like he’s expecting an answer, like he’s not really seeing Jared at the same time.  
  
“Nothing. She just. She screamed. Then she looked at me. She just looked at me – and God. I – I froze. Didn’t even look around. Her eyes. That’s all I could see. Begging me to do something.”  
  
Suddenly, Jensen’s fist comes down – hits the arm of the chair, which almost breaks under the force of it.  
  
“Fuck. I didn’t do  _anything._ I’m a fucking cop. I just stood there – I – she – she was bleeding – God – if I had done something – maybe –“  
  
Jared cuts him off. He grabs his wrist – Jensen’s still thrashing, still trying to hit something – and Jensen fights him, brings his other hand into it, because it’s not Jared in front of him, it’s his failures, it’s his faults staring right back at him.  
  
Jared scrambles – he might be bigger, but the throbbing in his jaw lets him know Jensen packs a really good punch – Jensen’s still mumbling something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like  _my fault_ , and Jared simply can’t live with it – wants it to stop, wants Jensen to stop hurting like this.  
  
In retrospect, it’s not his brightest decision. Especially not for the space they’re in – the narrow hallway, the uncomfortable chairs. He tackles Jensen. They land on the floor, in an awkward heap. Jared clips his elbow on the wall, and Jensen sticks a spectacular landing on his ass.  
  
Bright side, Jensen’s stopped punching things. Jared probably surprised him into it.  
  
Jared pants, raises himself enough to pin down Jensen’s wrists. “You done?”  
  
Jensen’s just staring up at him, seemingly stunned to find himself where he is.  
  
He nods, small, a little uncertain.  
  
Jared lets go. Falls back against the wall, pulls Jensen with him. The only excuse for what he does next is a concussion on his part.  
  
He slides his right hand around Jensen’s waist, settles Jensen’s pliant – still dazed  _–_  body against his side, left hand coming up to stroke Jensen’s cheek. It’s stupid. Jared wants to protect him. Shield him from everything. Recognizes how helpless he is. Still tries desperately to do it.  
  
Jared gets lost. Lost in green eyes, in tears that threaten to spill. He speaks, keeps his voice steady. Can’t believe he’s trying to smile about all of it.  
  
“So. That’s what we like to call a little break-down.” Jensen snorts at the “little” part. “Okay. Let it never be said that you can’t be dramatic.” Jared’s thumb glides across Jensen’s cheek, traces the freckles, slow, soothing. “And I’m competitive, so I’m going to one-up you and go for a speech. Ready for it?”  
  
Jensen’s only answer is the slightest curve of his lips.  
  
 “It’s not your fault. “ Jared shakes his head when it looks like Jensen might protest. “No. No stealing my spotlight. My speech.”  Jensen nods reluctantly. “Look. I can spout some bullshit about how you couldn’t have done anything. How it wasn’t physically, technically or humanly possible to do it. But you’re still going to blame yourself. Because it’s someone you care about, and you couldn’t protect her  _–_  even when you were right there.” He pauses. It’s so fucking hard to dredge up memories like these. They come with feelings, the same intensity, the same agony that wrenches shallow breaths out of him. “You were right there. And it still went to shit.” It’s a painfully familiar feeling. He breaks himself out the past. Focuses on Jensen, on wide green eyes that track him. “So. What I’m telling you is – pull it together. Find a way to deal with it. Go shoot the shit out of something. Hell, take another swing at me. Anything.” Jensen only now seems to notice the bruise forming on Jared’s cheek. “No. You don’t feel guilty about this either. You need to let me be here. You let me tell you all this shit. You let me babble on to you so I can make myself feel better. You focus on helping Danneel. Whatever she needs. Take it one hour at a time, one minute – whatever works, whatever keeps you going. You believe me when I say that this is not all there is. That it’s going to get better. You believe that she’s strong, and she’s fighting.  Jared takes a deep breath, his lips a smile that’s miles away from happy. “Understand me?”  
  
Jensen just looks at him. And fuck, Jared is suddenly shit at deciphering what those green eyes are trying to tell him. As it is, he just waits. The moment melts away. Expressions shift across Jensen’s features. Jared can’t make sense of all of it. He stares. Feels, more than sees Jensen’s nod against his skin.  
  
Then Jensen’s disentangling himself from Jared’s grip, like the prolonged contact had set something loose in him. He looks – he looks tired. Hurt. Drained emotionally. Determined. Hell-bent on beating this thing. Strong. Resilient.  
  
Beautiful.  
  
Jared fully expects him to get up. Find his way back to the chairs. He doesn’t. He stays there, at Jared’s side, arms and stretched legs touching, comforting warmth.  
  
He doesn’t say anything.  
  
So Jared lets his head fall back against the wall. Breathes out.  
  
Thinks that at least a week must have passed since this morning.  
  
  


~

  
  
  
Jared gets Jensen to eat something around the fifth hour he’s with him. A ham and cheese sandwich that looks like an elephant sat on it, but still.  
  
Jared gets Jensen to admit that he hasn’t called anyone else, besides Danneel’s family – and well,  _him_  – a little after the sixth hour he’s spent in the small hallway.  
  
He’s unreasonably grateful for it. It gives him something to do – even if it means talking to Chris. Jensen’s alternating between goading Jared into talking about random things and long bouts of silence where he just – drifts. Chooses a point in front of him and stares at it.  
  
And Jared can’t do anything about it.  
  
Just – be there. Stay beside him. Hope he has something to give that Jensen needs.  
  
  


~

  
  
  
The gruff tone comes in on the line after the third ring.  _“Kane. Talk to me.”_  
  
Christ, he’s not looking forward to this.  
  
“Chris. It’s Jared.”  
  
It takes a second for Chris to catch on to who’s talking. Then he’s cursing. Loudly. Colorfully. If Jared didn’t already have the urge to bang his head against the wall, he’d be truly impressed by the originality.  
  
“Kane. Shut the fuck up. I’m not calling for me.”  
  
That ends the rant on the end of the line real quick.  
  
“It’s Jensen.” Jared hears the shape intake of breath. Hurries on to answer the question he know is coming. “Well, Danneel. There was a shooting in front of the courthouse. One of her clients. Danneel told him she was dropping his case this morning, he went crazy. ”  
  
 _“Fuck. Shit. Motherfucking leave. Stupid leg – told the captain I was fine – but no – had to be –“_ Jared waits for Chris to go through his whole vocabulary. _“Fucking fuck. How is she?”_  
  
 _Glad you got with the program, Chris._  
  
“Critical. Stable. Bullet did a lot of damage to her lungs. Doctors are  _carefully optimistic about her recovery._ “ He can’t quite keep the sarcasm out of that one. “They aren’t letting Jensen see her yet, but he’s being updated hourly.”  
  
There’s a few beats of silence as Chris takes it all in.  
  
 _“Okay. That’s good. That’s good. That she’s stable.”_ A pause. Then Chris’s voice, thundering.  _“But why the fuck am I only being told about this now? And the better question – why the fuck is it you telling me?”_  
  
Yep. Jared’s psychic. Seen this coming. More or less guessed the wording.  
  
“Does it even fucking matter, Chris?” He sighs, slumps into the wall behind him, rubs at his eyes tiredly. Fuck.  _Ow_. Forgot he still had his glasses. “Just go by Jensen’s place. Get him some clothes, toothbrush, all that shit. We both know he’s not leaving. Get your ass here.. Bring Steve. I’m hoping to convince Jensen to get some sleep. Then we figure it out. See what he needs, and we give as much as we can to him.“  
  
Chris is silent for such a long time, Jared actually checks the phone to see if he hung up.  
  
Then, quiet, grumbled, like it causes Chris great pain to admit it,  _“You know. You’re not really as fucked up in the head as you seem.”_  
  
Jared wants to laugh. Hysterically.  He doesn’t. He says thanks and disconnects the call.  
  
  


~

  
  
Two missed calls and a text from Jason. Jared answers them with a voicemail. Tells Jason the whole sordid story in under a minute. Sneaks an  _I love you_ at the end of it.  
  
Stays there, propped against the hard wall of the corridor, watches people coming and going. Lets the cold of the floor seep in. Tries to ignore the empty feeling.  
  
  


~

  
  
Time passes slowly.  
  
It’s always like this. The fear, the urgency in the beginning – then – silence. Noise is only for people who can exhibit human emotion, fascinating and morbid in its contrast and intensity – people who cry for joy, people who cry for grief. People who laugh about a broken finger, people who laugh as if it’s the only thing tethering them to sanity. Voices, chatter, electronic voice overhead, loud, main desk paging various doctors, rhythmic cadences, beeps, steps –  _nothing._  
  
A haze. But Jared’s too sober. Just focused on one thing.  
  
Jensen falls into a restless sleep into one of the chairs. It’s been a long day – and the rollercoaster of emotions drained him enough to pass out. Jared takes his rumpled suit jacket, makes a pillow out of it, and gently tilts Jensen’s head sideways on it. Frankly, he’s surprised that Jensen doesn’t wake up – but he’s grateful for it.  
  
As tired as he is – he had gotten about three hours of sleep in the morning – Jared can’t give in. Sits across from Jensen, on the floor, beside him, tapping his foot nervously, makes frequent trips to the vending machine, but when he comes back with the snacks finds that he can’t eat – it’s like one of those scenes from the movies, where everything comes to a standstill, except one point, one piece that keeps in motion, snapshots blurring together, dragging sluggishly while actual time simply refuses to exist.  
  


 

~

  
  
  
Jared talks to the nurses, the doctors – asks for any change, for any news that is worth waking Jensen. They all shake their head repentantly.  
  
He fields calls from Chris, from Steve – it’s the early hours of morning, but Jensen’s friends are worried about him and Danneel. Chris is actually something resembling polite towards him, even goes as far as to ask how Jared is doing.  
  
 _Huh. Times are weird._  
  
Chad calls. He wants a drink. He’d seen Sophia and Emily at the park this afternoon. Jared listens the best he can – it’s not like he hasn’t heard it all already – and tries to talk Chad out of it. But what the fuck does he know – what the fuck can he do, when Jared stopped believing long ago that his words could stop Chad from drinking.  
  
He calls Jason after, wakes him. He doesn’t mind, listens as Jared bitches about the sloshy liquid that passes for coffee, about the smell of antiseptic. He knows, understands better than Jared does himself why he’s acting like this.  
  
He tells Jared, gently, like he’s speaking to a skittish child, that as much as he wants to, he can’t fix the situation they’re in.  
  
And Jared knew – of course he knew – but the will, the drive, the need is etched into him, is burned into his skin. The clock keeps ticking, the ribbons on his arms dissolve under his fingertips, leaving a patch of black behind. He closes his eyes, listens to Jason’s voice, low, deep, calming, and tries to match his breathing.  
  
He’s glad Jensen doesn’t see him like this.  
  
  


~

  
  
  
Chris is early.  
  
Jensen’s long awake by then – he looks like shit. Face drawn, pale cheeks, dark circles already forming under his eyes. He’s still the most beautiful man that Jared’s ever seen.  
  


~

  
  
  
Jared leaves shortly after Steve arrives – thinks he’d just get in the way otherwise.  
  
Jensen doesn’t even notice, and it’s hard to fault him for it.  
  
Truth is – Jensen could have –  _would_  have done this alone, because that’s the kind of man he is. Brave (stupid), headstrong (pig-headed), self-reliant (lonely).  
  
Jared doesn’t know, not even now, if any ounce of comfort he provided wasn’t actually for his own benefit.  
  
  


~

  
  
  
Jared gets home just in time to realize it’s Saturday morning. Jason’s home, sitting at the kitchen table, unconvincing picture of calm as he muses over the leaflet of  _Sudoku_ puzzles he and Jared so often fight over.  
  
He raises his head when he hears the door click behind Jared, and Jared sees – spots the telltale sign of worry, of anxiety – Jason chewing his lower lip, pen sliding between his fingers in a swirling motion that’s natural to him, that Jared couldn’t master after hours of trying.  
  
“You look like shit.”  
  
Jared laughs, raw and scratchy. “Yeah. It’s a recurring theme.”  
  
“There’s food.”  
  
Jared shakes his head, makes for the bedroom.  
  
Jared’s just finished getting undressed when Jason follows him in.  
  
They get into bed, and Jared just curls around him. Buries his head in the crook of Jason’s neck, doesn’t say anything, revels in the feel of Jason’s fingers carding through his hair, settled possessively over his hip.  
  
He still can’t sleep.  
  
It seems a long while until Jason speaks, words spoken so softly, Jared barely hears it.  
  
“What are you doing, Jared?”  
  
 _Being really, really stupid,_ Jared thinks.


	6. Chapter 6

                                       

  
  
  
  
Danneel gets better.  
  
Slowly. Jensen’s with her every step of the way.  
  
They talked about it. Jensen told him, even though Jared hadn’t asked. He’s doing it because it’s the right thing to do, because he cares about her, because as much as he doesn’t love her like he should, that’s no excuse.  
  
And it makes sense. Jensen’s a good man. It sounds reasonable.  
  
But that doesn’t explain why Jared feels so empty when he doesn’t hear from Jensen days at a time, only to receive a message that’s prompt, efficient, but bared of any inflection.  
  
_Everything’s okay. Miss you._  
  
Jared wants to laugh, because he doesn’t have a fucking clue about what’s  _okay_ about it. Yeah. The nightmares Danneel’s going to have about all of this, however strong she is, the fear, waking up to a blind panic that doesn’t let go, not ever, not easily – that’s okay. Jensen, taking the blame and serving his punishment in sleepless nights, a life split in two between his duty and his job – that’s okay, too. It’s fucking peachy.  
  
And Jared doesn’t believe. It scares him. Because Jensen never said words that he didn’t mean. But now – now he can’t trust it. Can’t trust himself to believe the meaning behind it.  
  
Jared misses Jensen, too.  
  
The scrap of a smile when Jared would say something stupid. The scowl when Jared would tease. The look of concentration, tongue peeking out between his lips when he’s trying to figure out Jared, and all his inflections.  
  
Everything about him.  
  
And it’s unfamiliar. It feels wrong, it feels like he wasn’t made for this. Jared fights the urge to leave, to run, to get as far away as he can from the feeling.  
  


 

~

  
  
  
  
Chad barges in, a week and one day after the shooting – the date is not the only thing Jared remembers, he can recall everything about the day, almost unwillingly – drunk off his ass, Jose and Jack in a paper bag that he drops on the table with an ugly grin.  
  
“Here, drown your sorrows, Jay.” Chad sways a little on his feet. “All the cool kids are doing it.”  
  
Jared’s tired. Jared doesn’t have any more speeches.  
  
That’s on him, too. He’d left Chad in the wind. He’d been stretched thin, he’d left useless messages checking in on Chad, when he knew he should have called till he answered, he should have gone after him. Jared had left him, willed Chad to be stronger, willed him to fucking care about something other than the absolution at the end of the bottle. And it’s really fucking ironic, because it’s everything he craves right now, mindless existence where he doesn’t have to be anything.  
  
Not to Jensen. Not to Chad. Not to Jason, or Nate, or the endless list of people that don’t see him for the wreck he is. Who still have faith in him. Who can’t see the tenuous strands keeping him together – he feels like any touch, any word could shatter him, would bury him under the worthlessness of all of it. The meaningless battle that’s always uphill – days, strung together, uselessly.  
  
He drinks. He doesn’t tell Chad he shouldn’t.  
  
After all, it’s always the same.  
  
Might as well not fight it.  
  


 

~

  
  
  
  
Jared peels himself off the couch, swallows against the cotton feel in his mouth.  
  
Fuck. It’s too early.  
  
He stands up, barely avoids stepping on Chad, passed out on the carpet. Yeah, they shouldn’t have drunk so much. Around the seventh shot, Chad falls headfirst in the melancholy jar. It’s pathetic, it’s the same shit Chad always says to make it look like Sophia and him ever had a shot.  
  
But Jared doesn’t say that. Jared doesn’t say it, because even now, Chad can’t admit that it was him who fucked the best thing he ever had in his life.  
  
He scrubs a hand over his eyes.  
  
Wonders when did his life get so fucked up. Rephrases the question to when wasn’t it.  
  
He sidesteps the mess – the bottles, almost empty, on the edge of the table, clear liquid slowly dripping down, the remote buried in half-eaten Meat Lover pizza. Knows to stay away from the corner where there’d be shards of glass from when he’d thrown a glass at Chad’s head and it had smashed on the wall.  
  
It’s always some variation of that. Him and Chad – they aren’t good drunks. They’re angry, and bitter, and they know each other well enough to hit a bull’s eye, to push the right button to go from mildly annoyed to raging bull pissed in two seconds flat.  
  
Jared drags himself to the kitchen, palms around for his glasses.  
  
It would be easier if an elephant herd wasn’t trying to march through his head.  
  
He finds them, and the bleary picture becomes somewhat clearer – and fuck, that’ll be a bitch to clean up. He pours himself coffee – Jason is an angel sent from above, and there’s nobody in the world Jared loves more right now – and sits down at the table, tries to pretend the sticky stuff that’s drying in a crust on his leg can wait until he feels reasonably human again.  
  
Coffee, shower, dress, eat, clean, work, pretend not to want to kill everything in a two mile radius if they speak too loud. Yeah. Today is do-able.  
  
He’s rubbing his temple, wishing like hell that  _Let’s open the second bottle, fucker_ hadn’t been words coming out of his mouth last night, when Chad pads in, sleep-ruffled hair, only in pair of sweatpants, cursing a blue streak. He drops unceremoniously in the seat across Jared, closes his hand around the mug that’s already waiting for him.  
  
“Fuck.” On par with everything that’s going through Jared’s head. “We’re getting old, man.”, Chad croaks out, and Jared nods. He’s tired. They both know. They’re chasing ghosts of things, they’re searching for stuff they built up in their mind.  
  
Chad’s barely awake, and probably possesses two brain cells on a good day. Chad can also read Jared like no one else. “Jason leave already?”  
  
Jared looks up from where he was tracing the chipped rim of the mug with his thumb.  
  
“I heard you loud and clear last night, Chad.” He’s pissed. He’s not in the mood for this.  
  
Chad studies him for a moment. Searches for truths Jared doesn’t have. He gives up.  
  
“You’re an asshole.”  
  
Jared grits his teeth. “Again. Got the memo.”  
  
“You’ll fuck him up. “  _Him._ Chad doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about. “You always leave a mess behind, JT.”  
  
Jared takes a deep breath, tries to stay calm. Tries not to say the things that slipped through the cracks, all the things Chad understood but never asked about.  
  
“Don’t call me that.”  
  
Chad smiles. It’s ugly. Pitying. Sad. “But you  _are_  that guy. Just because you got your shit together and I didn’t doesn’t mean we’re all that different. This thing with Jason? It’s the best you can do, Jay.”  _Jay._ He’s not him, either. Jay’s the guy Jason, Chad care about. “He knows all your shit, all you’ve done and he puts up with it. He takes care of you even when you’re too stubborn to admit there’s something wrong in the first place. He stays. What more do you want?“  _What more do you think you deserve? That’s all you’re worth. That’s all anyone can do._ “The cop’s too good for you, Jay. You’ll break him.“ _And this time, you’ll break yourself, too._  
  
Jared looks at Chad. There’s only warmth in his blue eyes. That’s why it hurts so much.  
  
He gets up, downs the last of the coffee in one big gulp. He puts the mug in the sink, grips the edges tight, closes his eyes, and  _breathes._ “You done?”  
  
Small voice, broken sound. He knows Chad hears it. But right now, he can’t gather enough strength to do something about it.  
  
There’s a hand on his hip, a forceful pull on his arm, and Chad spins him around, pushes until the counter’s digging into his thighs. He cups Jared’s jaw, raises his head, touch gentle, harsh contrast to the blistering grip his right hand still has on his forearm.  
  
“Jay.” Jared doesn’t meet his eyes. Not right now. A plead.  
  
He gives in. Breathes deep. Speaks.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
Chad snorts. Jared doesn’t have the energy to interpret that. For a moment, Jared thinks he’s going to say something. Chad has that look in his eyes. Instead, he presses himself close, and Jared just slumps, brings his free hand around Chad’s shoulders, rests his chin on his head, and closes his eyes.  
  
They’re good. He’s fine.  


 

~

  
  
Jared stops calling.  
  
He had texted, he had asked. Those first few days, he’d spent at the hospital with Jensen nearly the whole time. It was a bit awkward, it was a bit strained – but Jared needed it. Needed to see that Jensen would be okay, that he wouldn’t fall apart.  
  
Jared shouldn’t have worried.  
  
Jensen bounces back, reinforced, determined. Danneel can’t wake up to a pale Jensen, with red-rimmed eyes, even though the stubble is always present now, in contrast to the clean-shaven face Jared had fleetingly stroked. She wakes up to a Jensen that makes a joke, who kisses her on her forehead, tells her he’s so glad to see her beautiful eyes.  
  
Maybe that’s what clues Jared in – unwitting audience to the moment when he returns with coffee for both Jensen and him – maybe that’s what finally makes the decision for him.  
  
It isn’t his place. Jensen’s fine. And Danneel will be.  
  
She looks up, spots him looming in the doorway awkwardly.  
  
She sends him a smile that’s so warm, so sincere, it just might break Jared.  
  
_Thank you for taking care of him._  
  


 

~

  
  
  
Jared begs Jason to fuck him hard, fast, rough that night.  
  
It’s a need he hasn’t given into for a long time.  
  
Not since he met Jensen, not since he knew what he was asking. What it would mean.  
  
But he wants to feel. Anything.  
  
Or stop it altogether. He can’t decide which.  
  
Jason does.  
  
Jared keeps taking from him.  
  
  


 

~

  
  
  
  
“Hi.”  
  
That easy. Jensen, standing there, like always. Almost smiling. For the briefest moment, Jared doesn’t know what to do. He just doesn’t – it’s terrifying.  
  
He always knew what to do. Life taught him. How to lie to a brother that asked him if the next day was his last one every night. How to build himself so that same question hit a wall, every time. How he struggled to be strong in Nate’s eyes.  
  
And then, turning tricks to make a few bucks just to get away from a family that would have given him everything, except what he needed the most, what he always dreamed of – attention, love. Losing himself in a haze of worthless days and years, of alcohol and drugs that had left him emptier than he ever was.  
  
Chris was right. Jared isn’t good. He just hopes Chris can convince Jensen of that.  
  
“Jared?”  
  
The low rasp breaks him out of his pity party. It’s a vicious circle, because he ends up hating himself more for having given in to that.  
  
“Yeah. Hi.”  
  
It’s almost mechanical, putting a drink in front of Jensen. Scotch.  
  
But Jensen holds out a hand, stops him.  
  
“Not today.” He grabs Jared’s wrist when he tries to turn back, take the glass. He holds Jared’s gaze, steady, assuring. “Came to see how you were. Are. ”  
  
Nervous. Just a bit. But there. There’s a traitorous strand of hope that blossoms.  
  
But Jared laughs.  
  
“I’m fine. Not the one you should ask.”  
  
Jensen just stares at him, indecipherable look in his eyes.  
  
“Thank you.” he says, smoothly, and Jared should really figure out how Jensen can put so much into so few words, so much that Jared can’t pretend not to understand.  
  
Jared nods. It’s more reflex than any conscious thought.  
  
This is goodbye.  
  
“Jared –“  
  
“Jensen, don’t.”  
  
A warning. His voice is surprisingly strong.  
  
Jensen looks confused. Lets go of Jared’s wrist, slowly, unsure. Jared changes the subject.  
  
“How’s Danneel?”  
  
The frown on Jensen’s face deepens, but Jared pays it no mind. He leans against the bar, supporting himself with both hands. He keeps the distance.  
  
“She’s doing pretty well. Already working from home.” Jensen goes on as normal. “A bit unsettled. But in true fashion, the whole thing just drove her to work harder, see that the son of a bitch who did it gets convicted.”  
  
There’s admiration in Jensen’s voice. Pride. Jared would be proud, too, he guesses. As it is – he’s happy that Danneel’s healing – if not for knowing her, for knowing Jensen, and being the only outcome Jensen could live with.  
  
But he can’t go back. A tension has slithered in every conversation he has with Jensen – unbidden, mostly on his part. Jared has no idea how to fix it.  
  
Because Jensen wants to, Jared notices. There’s pride, there’s respect, but there isn’t love. Not for her. Not when he talks to Jared like this, soft, unhurried.  
  
“Jared?”  
  
Jared hums out a response while he wipes the already spotless glass.  
  
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”  
  


 

~

  
  
Jared hadn’t expected that.  
  
But this,  _this_ is all too familiar.  
  
He’d fooled himself into thinking he wouldn’t be doing it again.  
  
He’d said yes.  
  
It didn’t matter.  
  
He would be long gone.


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

                                                  

  
  
  
  
  
Jared doesn’t come.  _Tomorrow_ becomes a week, then two – in limbo, waiting.  
  
Jensen doesn’t understand.  
  
He doesn’t really get it. Not the hours he waited in front of the restaurant. The calls that aren’t answered. The texts.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Jensen doesn’t know what he’s done.  


 

 

~

  
  
  
Jensen goes to the bar.  
  
It’s desperate, pointless, but he goes, every night. Katie doesn’t answer questions he can’t bring himself to ask. He stays, drinks, wonders what he did wrong.  
  
If Jared’s okay.  
  
Where he is. Why.  
  
He’s angry. He’s worried. He’s lost. He misses Jared’s easy, dimpled smile so fucking much.  
  


 

 

~

  
  
  
“Beer?”  
  
Jensen nods.  
  
Katie pours something from the tap. Jensen doesn’t protest. It honestly doesn’t matter much.  
  
“You okay?” she asks, genuinely concerned, looking at Jensen with kind eyes.  
  
Jensen doesn’t really know how to answer that. He is better and worse than in a long time. He doesn’t say anything. Katie isn’t Jared. This isn’t what they had.  
  
It’s strange, he feels like himself as much as he doesn’t. Jared had ripped apart layers, had cut through everything Jensen put up as a front. Unconsciously. One stupid drumbeat of those fingers that couldn’t stay still at a time. He hears sees it.  
  
And then Jared left him. Raw, exposed, and it feels like everyone sees.  
  
Katie seems to get it, on some level, because she backs off.  
  
Jensen doesn’t drink the beer. Just stares at the glass, rubs with his thumb at the condensation on the sides.  
  
He wants to leave. He can’t do this. He doesn’t want to.  
  
He doesn’t know how.  
  
He’s just about to get up and leave when a hand on his forearm stops him.  
  
“Jensen.” Dark brown eyes, tired and full of shadows, look down at him. “Right?”  
  
It’s Jason.  
  
And isn’t that a fucking bitch. Jensen settles back. He’s always been a masochist.  
  
Jason sits down, and in no time, Katie places an array of shots before him. Jensen eyes the display dubiously. Katie shrugs. She knows. Not enough, she’s too smart to ask.  
  
“Looking for him?”  
  
Jason sounds resigned. Sad. Weary. Worn out. And it’s strange, because he was always a step away from perfect in Jensen’s mind. The contrast, the good, what Jensen never was, never could be.  
  
Jensen doesn’t talk. They both know all too well the answer to that.  
  
Jason downs a shot, then turns the glass, slaps it down on the counter. His fingers rest against the rim of the second one, but he doesn’t take it. He speaks, voice low, rough.  
  
“You love him?”  
  
_Yes. Maybe. No. What is it like, loving somebody?_  
  
“Because I do.”  
  
He turns, locks eyes with Jensen. They’re broken, empty.  
  
“And that’s not enough.”  
  
_I’m not enough._  
  
Angry. Bitter. But this – Jared fucked them both up. He can’t help but hate Jared a little for it. And love him exactly because of it.  
  
“Maybe it could be…” Jensen starts, and cringes at the words coming out of his mouth.  
  
Platitudes. It’s all he can offer. It seems like the world is made up of them, lately. Jason laughs, short, hollow.  
  
“It’s not a happy ending for me and Jared I’m after, Jensen. Never was going to be.”  
  
Jensen understands, he and Jason are mutually exclusive. Someone has to be hurt. Someone has to live with Jared’s choice. Problem is, it was never one. Not really.  
  
Jason pushes a shot at him. Jensen downs it quickly, feels the burn in his throat, the warmth that spreads through him immediately. It’s so good, when he doesn’t care, when he can lie to himself that he does.  
  
“He loves you.”  
  
“Jared loves everybody.” Jensen stretches his lips in a smile, broken, shards of an expression he had forgot. “And he leaves.”  
  
Jason keeps his eyes downcast, spinning an empty shot glass with his fingers on the counter. He downs three more in the silence that follows.  
  
Jensen watches. Sees a mirror, reflections Jared had carved out meticulously.  
  
“It’s not his fault,” Jason says quietly. “Well, it is. But not. He got used to it. The day to day. Me. Not bad, not good, easy, not  _anything._ “ Jason pauses, reaches for words uselessly. “Happy was never something for him.”  
  
Probably. More like self-punishment, Jared’s way of living. Jensen nods.  
  
“He likes it.”  
  
“He does,” Jason agrees. “As much as you like something when you don’t know differently.”  
  
And Jensen hates it, because it’s complicated, it’s messy, it’s everything he doesn’t need.  
  
The glasses are empty. Jason turns his whole body to Jensen, leans in. Whispers.  
  
“You know what I want to do? All I can think about? Dragging you out of here. Fucking you against the wall, spread you on my bed, fuck you till the morning, till you can’t walk straight, till you beg for me.” Jensen shudders. His body’s reacting, Jason’s palm clamping down his thigh, hot breath ghosting his cheek. He’s not drunk enough, his mind screams at him, denies it vehemently. “Fuck you like I fuck him. Hurt him like he hurts me. Have you seen how – how fucking beautiful he looks when there’s come on his lips? When there’s bruises, teeth scrapes on him? He screams so loud when you push into him. He moans so pretty with a cock in him.”  
  
Jensen’s slipping. He’ assaulted by images that are not his.  
  
But Jason pulls back, suddenly, abruptly, and Jensen’s left adrift. Hard, conflicting emotions lighting a fire in him, burning him from the inside, flaying, ripping mercilessly.  
  
“See, Detective?”  
  
It’s wrong. So wrong. Perfect pictures are only the ones his mind is painting for him.  
  
 But if he ever had any doubt, now there’s none. It’s Jared. The only one who can turn him inside out.  
  
Jason shrugs, goes back to shuffling the glasses around aimlessly.  
  
“We’re all screwed up. Some of us are just better at handling it.”  
  
Jensen’s hand is shaking when he reaches for the wallet in his jeans. He slaps a few bills on the counter, slips out of his seat.  
  
He gets out.  
  
It’s cold. It wraps around him, blankets him. Finally. He can breathe.  


 

 

~

  
  
Danneel’s body is warm, soft under his fingertips.  
  
She’s making these tiny sounds, pleasure-tinged, faint, like she knows he doesn’t want to hear.  
  
She knows. She’s there. He isn’t.  
  
This isn’t him.  
  
Or it is. This is the last piece he has to give.  
  
He has to let her go.  
  
Goodbye, if he was a little better at it.  


 

 

~

  
  
“Ackles.”  
  
Chris slaps something on the steering wheel in front of him. “Keys.” He looks at Jensen, considering him. There’s nothing for Chris to see. Jensen’s good at hiding it.  
  
But Chris never knew what was good for him. So he speaks.  
  
“I’m sorry. I wanted to be wrong about him.”  
  
Jensen laughs. He can’t help it. Maybe it’s hysterical. Maybe it’s just the last thread, snapping, tight rope balancing, falling –  
  
Or maybe it’s the most sane thing he can think of doing.  
  
Chris just eyes him worriedly.  
  
Jensen’s laugh builds, shatters into wishes.  
  
Dominoes. Falling.  
  
He’s coming apart at the seams.  


 

 

~

 

Jensen drives. The creamy off-white streaks of the pavement markings melt under the moonlight dreams.  
  
The darkness is bigger for the light he shines on it.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

                                                   

 

  
The world narrows down to just him.   
  
There are no shapes. Outside is malleable, inky black that gives way to the shadows in his own mind, contorts till it’s just a void filled with a helpless plea.   
  
Such a familiar feeling.   
  
A layer that melts into Jared, into his skin – failures that follow him, an addiction that he fuels walking the same steps into a routine, a build-up, a lie that he’s happy. Why? He likes it like this.   
  
It’s better.   
  
It doesn’t have anywhere to go. Not up. Not down.   
  
It’s a familiar, comforting, empty feeling.   
  
He’s not sure how – why he ended up here.   
  
  


~

  
  
  
She’s beautiful.   
  
Only rose-tinted cheeks and curious eyes peek from the pile of sky blue wool she’s bundled in – she takes shaky steps forward, tiny feet padding softly in the thin layer of snow. She looks up, eyes alight, even when she falls on her butt.   
  
The woman laughs softly. The man watches, camera in hand, forgetting to point it at his subject in the immediacy of the moment.   
  
Jared watches the transient, cruelly passing perfect moment that dissolves under the touch of time.   
  
Jared closes his eyes.   
  
Lets himself drift further.   
  
  


~

  
  
“Hey.”   
  
Unsure, slow, voice cracking no matter how much he wills it to be strong.   
  
The man watches him.   
  
Still, impassive, immovable. And, maybe this is why he shouldn’t have done it.   
  
There’s comfort in uncertainty.   
  
But now there’s just him, here, and it doesn’t feel like he belongs.   
  
Just a ghost of who he was, of who he should have been, a fragment he’d ripped from himself.   
  
Nate punches him.   
  
Jared falls. Blissful collapse, and he smiles for what feels like a long time.   
  
  


~

  
  
  
Nate hugs Jared – clings to him for hours, days, years –time dissolves. Jared sinks into the warmth, loses track of the outside.   
  
This time, he doesn’t care. Jared holds on tight, anchors himself in what he feels, into the swirl of good, of bad, the fire peeling back his insides.   
  
Finally Jared pulls back to a world that’s blurred around the edges, with blue-green eyes that look up at him curiously. He swipes a hand over his face, and he crouches in front of Sara, shaky smile tugging at the parts of him that he didn’t know he had missed.   
  
She eyes him warily. Then, slowly, tentatively, she walks unsteadily the two feet between them. She stops, stares at him. Searching. For what, Jared doesn’t know. But she must have found it, because the next thing she does is reach out, tiny, gloved hand pulling weakly at his pinky finger.   
  
She flicks her eyes up, meets Jared’s red-rimmed ones, and smiles.   
  
So easily. So innocently.   
  
Jared gives in.   
  
Laughs, cries, something in between.   
  


~

  
  
  
They’re walking.   
  
Sara has gone ahead with her mother. Adrianne spared a warm smile for Jared, one Jared didn’t understand, couldn’t make sense of. She should hate him for all he’d done to her husband.   
  
Jared braces himself against the cold – shoves his hands in the pockets of the ratty jeans, hunches into the hoodie that’s decidedly not appropriate for weather like this. But he hadn’t known he’d stop here. His path had been aimless, running in circles, just him and the weight of the confusing thoughts in his head.   
  
Nate chuckles softly.   
  
“Take it you weren’t planning on visiting.”   
  
Jared smiles despite himself. Nate always known Jared better than Jared knew himself.   
  
“Glad you did.”   
  
That’s Nate. Willing to say the obvious things. Never hiding. Maybe life with an ending date attached had taught him to say what he sees. Maybe he’d always been like this. Why ever he is, Jared’s grateful for it. He needs to hear it.   
  
“You’re going to talk at some point, right? Not that I can’t entertain myself like this.” Nate casts a sideways glance at Jared, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sara’s got me trained. One-sided conversations are the new thing. But I’ll spare the baby talk, I’m thinking.”   
  
Nate raises an eyebrow when Jared still says nothing. “Or not. How do you feel discussing smelly diapers? Princess hair braiding? Pros and cons of not throwing food at people feeding you?” He raises his hands in surrender. “Exciting stuff, I promise.”   
  
Jared stares at him for a moment. Studies him.   
  
Bursts into laughter.   
  
Nate always knew how to unwind Jared, too. It’s surprisingly easy to relax.   
  
“God, I missed you.”   
  
And that could shatter the illusion. The words that crack the surface, the ones that destroy everything. But Jared has to say them. Nate just nods, smiles tiredly.   
  
“I know.”   
  
There’s silence for a few beats, but Jared isn’t afraid that he’s ruined this. Not anymore.   
  
“I understand why you did it,” Nate says softly. “It doesn’t –hurt any less, but I know why. Wasn’t blind. Saw what I did to you –“   
  
“Nate –“   
  
“No, let me say this. Then we can go back to ignoring it.” Nate scuffs the ground with his feet – and Jared flashes to one of the good memories, Nate as a kid, pouty, chubby-cheeked, without worries, who didn’t really understand the reality of it. “I’ve thought a lot about it,” Nate laughs bitterly. “Had a lot of time for it.”   
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
The words that should mean more. They shouldn’t feel so empty.   
  
“You shouldn’t be.”   
  
Jared lets out a hollow laugh. “Right.” He doesn’t see how Nate can say that. But he’s glad. Because he would have done it the same, given a second chance.   
  
Nate shrugs. “You disappeared long before you left, Jared.”   
  
Jared watches the cars whipping past on the street, doesn’t say anything.   
  
“Sometimes I wish there had been someone to see you besides me.”   
  
And Jared does, too, and hates himself for being selfish.   
  
“That doesn’t mean I think you did the right thing. Mom, Dad … they did the best they could.”   
  
Jared nods. “It just wasn’t enough for me.”   
  
“It wouldn’t have been for anyone.” Nate sighs. ”You deserved to be treated like a kid. They forgot that.”   
  
“Nate, it doesn’t matter –“   
  
“But it does. It does, because you let it define you. You let everyone shove you in the background. And then just gave up.”   
  
Jared wants to protest. Wants to say leaving was a way to survive.   
  
“I gave up on the hope I had, Nate,” is what he actually says. “Didn’t give up on you. Never you.”   
  
Nate stays silent. Footsteps weave, the soft crunching sound too loud.   
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
That stops Jared in his tracks. “Jesus fucking Christ, for what?”   
  
Nate stops a few feet in front of him. Hazel eyes shimmer in the sunlight. “For not knowing how to help you. For seeing what it did to you, and not lending a hand.”   
  
“You couldn’t have done anything.”   
  
Nate scoffs. “I could have. It was me. I was the sick kid. I was the one caught up in it, in how fucking unfair it all was. You were the one that held me and told me a story about the future I didn’t believe in.”   
  
Jared wants to plead, wants to beg Nate not to do this. There’s no sense in digging up a past that might as well not have been his. But he knows, should have expected it. It’s too long, it’s too much to hold in.   
  
“It was what it was, Nate. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Nate looks like he wants to protest. “This isn’t why I came here.”   
  
“Then why did you? Why now? What is this?”   
  
Jared answers honestly. “I don’t know.”   
  
Nate studies him for a moment, eyes searching for the truth in it. His lips curve into a faint smile.   
  
“Well, glad to know you’re so convinced.”   
  
Jared takes the peace offering for what it is.   
  
  


~

  
  
  
“Thank you,” Adrianne says as she puts a plate with delicious looking steak and mashed potatoes in front of him. “I don’t know if he said it, because my husband usually doesn’t see the forest for the trees, but thank you.”   
  
She touches his arm, reassuring. Jared stills.   
  
“Whatever this is, whatever comes out of it, you being here? It’s a good thing.”   
  
Jared wishes he had the same conviction in that belief.   
  


~

  
  
  
“Mom still asks about you.”   
  
Jared really wishes Nate would find better timing. Like, for example, anytime not in the middle of the hockey game they’re watching. For that matter, any time not in this century.   
  
Jared glares at him.   
  
“I’m just saying –“   
  
“I’ll talk to her.” At Nate’s disbelieving look, Jared continues. “Not today. Maybe not for a long time. But I will.” He fiddles with the label on his beer bottle. “Just – can we not –“   
  
“Talk about this?” Nate takes a swig of his own beer. Shrugs. “Sure. Worked so well last time. Didn’t see you for how many years?”   
  
Jared flinches. “I’m sorry,” he says. He gets up to leave.   
  
Nate stops him with a hand to his arm.   
  
Jared stares at him. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”   
  
Nate’s answer is thrown around a smile. “Not anytime soon. Get used to it.”   
  
And Jared could, he thinks.   
  
  
  


~

  
  
  
  
“You deserve it.”   
  
Jared watches the pure joy on Sara’s face when the swing reaches the high point, when her mom cheers. Nate is sitting near him, on the bench, gaze on his wife and daughter, warm and smiling.   
  
But Jared doesn’t quite follow the train of thought.   
  
“Huh?”   
  
“I said, you deserve it.”   
  
Jared turns, follows his gaze back. “Wife and kid?”   
  
“No – “   
  
“’Cause, dude, I thought I’d told you –“   
  
“You’re gayer than a rainbow. I know.”   
  
Jared snorts. “Weak, man. Thought there’d be at least an Elton John reference in there.”   
  
“There’s still time.”   
  
There isn’t, not really.   
  
Nate smiles knowingly. Jared should have expected it.   
  
“You always forget I spent years looking up to you. Know you better than anyone, Jared.”   
  
It’s terrifying as it is comforting.   
  
“I know you’re going back. That’s why I’m saying. You get to have it.”   
  
And isn’t that the wish. He’d never gone back. Never considered it possible. Until now. Until –   
  
“What’s his name?”   
  
Until Jensen.   
  
Jared doesn’t have anything to say. Just the truth he’s been carrying, that with each week he’s been here has become clearer. “I love him.”   
  
“Duh. I know.”   
  
Jared turns incredulous eyes to him. Punches him in the arm.   
  
“Ow.” Nate rubs the sore spot. “Fuck, you hit hard, Princess Sensitive.” He smirks, “You left your phone in the kitchen.”   
  
Jared groans.   
  
Nate laughs victoriously.   
  
  


~

  
  
  
“You better write us, asshole.”   
  
Jared hugs Adrianne while Nate rants on.   
  
“And call. Once a week. Or twice. Not too much. Hearing your whining has his limits.”   
  
Jared picks Sara up, crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out to one side. Sara seems delighted to watch Jared make the silliest faces in existence.   
  
 “All I’m saying is, don’t disappear.”   
  
Jared’s in front of him – and maybe if he weren’t, he couldn’t see the hurt, the pain in his eyes – the fear of going through it again.   
  
He won’t. “I promise.”   
  
It isn’t a hug. They’re just clinging. To each other, to what they’ve found.   
  
It still isn’t right. There’s still so much.   
  
But it’s better than it’s been in a long time.   
  
Jared clears his throat, pulls back.   
  
Nate claps him on the shoulder. “Okay, enough of this walking Oprah moment. Got that?”   
  
Jared just laughs.   
  
  


~

  
  
Jared stops.   
  
Time, too.   
  
The sun shines bright in a clear June sky.   
  
Jensen.   
  
Jensen’s there, leaning against his car.   
  
Rumpled suit, arms crossed, tired green eyes flickering in the light.   
  
It’s Jared he sees.   
  
Only him.   
  
But he doesn’t move.   
  
He waits.   
  
Jensen waits, because he knows Jared will always come back to him.

 

 


	9. Epilogue

                                            

  
  
  
  
Jensen wakes up slowly, sunlight tickling his eyelids, kissing his freckles lazily – he wakes up content, almost happy.  
  
Alone.  
  
He brushes a hand over his face, tries to get his bearings. Jared’s not there.  
  
He hasn’t been for some time. Jared’s side of the bed is cold – but slept in.  
  
Sometime in the night, Jared has slipped from Jensen’s hold. He’s gone. It feels so familiar.  
  
It’s hard to trust, some days. Mostly because of himself, of how he’s always lived – knowing, someday, the worst will happen. Convinced that nothing ever lasts – because he can’t make it. Finding relief, when it finally does happen – relief tinged with an acceptance of all the things he can’t be. It’s oddly comforting, the routine of expecting the same thing.  
  
This time, though, waking up alone isn’t a relief. It’s emptiness, bigger for what has come to fill the hole in him.  
  
It’s hard because some days, Jared looks at him in a way that takes the world apart piece by piece, and rebuilds it only in the colors in Jared’s eyes.  
  
It’s – good. Hard to believe. Exhilarating.  
  
It hurts so much.  
  
Jensen doesn’t know if he can measure up to that. If he’s enough. But he tries.  
  
He gets up, pulls on boxers and a t-shirt. He has to remind himself. Jared’s still here. Jared came back.  
  
And, sure enough, he’s waiting for Jensen with an omelet and hot coffee at the kitchen table, already dressed in t-shirt and jeans. He’s smiling, dimpled, his face breathtakingly open.  
  
“Morning, sunshine.”  
  
Jensen mumbles some semblance of response and takes the time to press a kiss to Jared’s forehead, if only for the expression Jared has afterwards – smile softer, but genuine in a way Jared, contradictorily, rarely is.  
  
Once he’s had the coffee, eaten half of the omelet, he’s up for complicated words that have more than one syllable. He’s not really used to this. He sleeps less than Jared, it’s just the way he’s wired – to function on few hours of sleep. He’d gotten in exceptionally late the night before, though – which has been, to his disappointment, a frequent occurrence in the last few weeks.  
  
The only good thing about the new, grueling case they are working is Chris being back on active duty. Five months of physical therapy, desk duty, and Chris – yeah, terrible combination. Actually, levels come much closer to disastrous. Jensen had no idea there would be something in this world that made Chris  _more_ grouchy. Frankly, he hadn’t thought that was possible.  
  
“Where were you?” Jensen asks abruptly, startling Jared.  
  
Yeah, he’s still not the smoothest communicator.  
  
But Jared answers, truthfully, without hesitation, even though he knows Jensen won’t like the answer.  
“Chad’s.” He puts his own mug of coffee down, looks Jensen in the eye when he talks. “Neighbor called. He fell asleep in the car, engine on, keys still in the ignition. She was worried.”  
  
“So she called in the middle of the night.”  
  
“Well, yeah, that’s when she got home.”  
  
Jensen lets it go. He’s seen the apartment building Chad and Jared live in, courtesy of Jared’s stubbornness and surprising lack of practicality – he’s been staying with Chad, not wanting to completely move in with Jensen.  
  
Self-sufficiency, appropriate time, space, all the generic explanations for it.  
  
Jensen checked it out after Jared returned and said he was going to stay there – ten minutes, a drug deal and an offer for a blowjob later, he wondered if cuffing Jared to the car and depositing him at his house, permanently, would be considered kidnapping.  
  
He hates that Jared is there regularly.  
  
“She couldn’t handle it by herself?”  
  
Jared sighs, gets up, starts to clean the table.  
  
“Jensen, it’s – it isn’t that easy.” He shrugs, and Jensen knows, it’s all too casual for it not to be an uncomfortable gesture. ”You don’t know how Chad gets. He’s … I don’t even know how to describe it. Violent, harsh, vile – whatever you want to call it. And the scary thing is, he’s not out of control. He knows what he’s doing. You can get angry, you can yell, you can just stand there … and he’s the same. He laughs in your face. He – he just loves seeing you hurting.”  
  
“So why do you do it?”  
  
“Because it’s the right thing to do. Because I have to.” He shrugs. “Because I love him.”  
  
Jensen’s sure, at some point, there was another order to that list of reasons. He hates it, and makes no effort to hide how he’s feeling. He isn’t going to lie, either.  
  
But it’s so hard, watching Jared go through the same cycle –again, and again, watching helplessly as Chad slides deeper, as he makes promises and breaks them. And takes Jared with him, frustrating familiarity in all the way he draws him in, a repetition of the same arguments, same punishment that Chad believes in. Some days, Jensen struggles really hard to believe Jared doesn’t crave it, doesn’t need it to absolve all the wrong things he thinks he did.  
  
Jensen doesn’t want to intrude, he doesn’t want to make what he and Jared have more complicated than it already is. Somehow, their damaged pieces work together.  
  
But it isn’t easy.  
  
Being with Jared – it’s everything. And impossible.  
  
Jensen has only scratched the surface of how truly fucked up Jared is. And knows he’s no better.  
  
“You know, if there’s one thing I learned in all my years as a cop, the guilt rarely belongs to someone other than the person who did the crime.”  
  
Jared turns to him, leaning against the counter, drying his hands off with a towel.  
  
He watches Jensen carefully, and Jensen can see, the way Jared’s reaching for something that puts him back on equal footing.  
  
“Why are we even talking about this so early in the morning?”  
  
It’s thrown around a small smile, one that says  _thank you_ , one that says,  _you don’t understand_.  
  
Maybe he doesn’t.  
  
“Because I’m trying.”  
  
The one thing that remains unchanged – Jared knows Jensen. Jared knows him better than he allows himself to understand his own issues, and that’s definitely screwed up, another shade of crazy to add to the pile – but it just doesn’t matter.  
  
Jared loves him.  
  
He’s telling Jensen now, walking closer, and that look – Jensen gets lost, and he almost says – he almost throws out every word he’s ever understood about love, but he doesn’t, because it’s him, it’s still him, he’s still a broken little piece nobody can fix.  
  
Some days he thinks he loves too desperately, too much, in a way that nobody could ever match, and some days, he think he doesn’t love anybody, not really, not at all.  
  
Then Jared’s touching, brushing knuckles over cheekbones, looking down, eyes following the path his thumb traces under Jensen’s eyes, and Jensen closes them, against all instinct, because he trusts Jared.  
  
He does, when it comes down to it. He trusts this.  
  
He anchors himself with his hands on Jared’s hips, pulls him closer, tries to say everything he doesn’t know how to in gestures.  
  
“God. You’re so beautiful,” Jared whispers, and Jensen believes it for a moment.   
  
He does, because that’s what Jared does to him.  
  
Jared’s hands slip away, his body pulls free from Jensen’s grasp.  
  
Jensen opens his eyes in time to see Jared walking away, slipping out of his t-shirt, baring the maze of images etched on Jared’s back.  
  
Jared doesn’t turn around.  
  
He knows, too, what this is.  
  
He lets Jensen watch, mesmerized, as the muscles in his shoulders bunch and shift, the tattoos ripple across the skin, drawing Jensen in like a magnet, begging for his fingers to trace the curves and dips, the ridges, the imperfections, the most amazing things.  
  
Jensen follows Jared. It’s hard to believe there will be a time where he’ll make another choice than this.

 

  
                                      

 


End file.
